


Come Away To The Water

by leobrat



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Blood and Sand, Spartacus: Gods of the Arena, Spartacus: Vengeance, Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 16:30:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leobrat/pseuds/leobrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Come away, little lass, come away to the water. Away from the light you always knew. We are calling to you...</i>Naevia was born, and then lived her whole life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, this has been a labor of love. And I would be remiss in not thanking quite a few people. First of all, this all began to really form after a conversation with selonbrody where we both thought that Pietros and Naevia had been brother and sister during the first few episodes of _Blood And Sand_ , and I swear, I only meant to write a prequel. lexiesloan took a look at this and offered such wonderful encouragement. And abvj has been invaluable, with hand-holding, suggestion and support. You will notice key lines of dialogue from the show, and my own tweak on certain scenes, and it is all a respectful homage to Stephen DeKnight and his writing team.

It was a curious thing that, when Naevia had been a child, she had known happiness. Of course, all children are happy enough, when they know nothing outside of their small, little worlds. She would play with Diona and Pietros in the kitchens with pots and pans, and Diona’s mother (Esyilt she was called, one of the kitchen servants) would cluck at them tenderly, warning them to not get underfoot and then bake three extra honey pasties especially for them. Melitta was a few years older, and she worked in the kitchens then too.

Naevia’s own mother had worked in the villa, attending the domina, though such words were unknown to the children in those early years. She would be gone long hours through the day and night and crawl onto the thin mattress she shared with her daughter and son when the world was very dark, smelling of the lady of the house’s perfume. When her children would stir, from nightmares or hunger when the house fell on hard times, she would sing softly, lulling them back to sleep, to safe dreams where children ran and played in open fields, running as long and as far as they wished. Sometimes the son of the master of the house would appear at their doorway just as she had dropped down with her children and would summon her again. She would kiss Naevia back to sleep and smooth her hand over Pietros’s brow and follow her dominus.

Her mother was very beautiful, dark of skin and hair, and she walked so gracefully, always one foot perfectly in front of the other, toe to heel. When Naevia was alone, as she was so often, she would practice walking in the same way. 

She was five years of age the first time she knew what she was, and learned to be afraid.

She and Diona were given white dresses to wear, matching, and Melitta looked a bit afraid and sad when she instructed them to follow her, up to the villa. The little girls had not spent much time upstairs, and Naevia stared at the wonder around her. The house of Batiatus was very rich in those days, when Marius was their champion, and the walls seemed to glitter as though the sun touched them. There were two great fans of ostrich plumes lying on the domina’s divan and Melitta quietly whispered that when the ladies came into the salon, she and Diona were to keep them cooled with the fans and not to make any noise.

But she smiled kindly, and Naevia thought it all a game. They waited for a time, far longer than Naevia was used to standing in one spot. Diona also grew impatient. “Are we to-”

“Hush,” Melitta hissed, more curtly than either of the little girls was used to hearing.

And finally their purpose presented itself. 

The domina entered slowly, arm-in-arm with a younger woman, and they seated themselves on the cushions. Melitta moved to bring them food and drink and she motioned for the little girls to pick up the fans. 

The younger woman was wearing a gown of green silk, so cool and light and shimmering in the sunlight filtering through the skylight. Naevia had never seen such a garment, and neither had Diona. Her friend was mesmerized and reached out a little hand to brush her fingers across the fabric, but Naevia knew that would be wrong. “Do not-” she began, but then felt a sharp cuff on the back of her head.

She had never been struck, and it stilled her for a moment, but Melitta caught her eye, all fear, and Naevia lifted the fan again.

*

They spent most of their days on the balcony, watching the gladiators train.

Marius was cut down soon after Naevia had come upstairs, and there was a new champion- stronger, quicker than the rest of the men. He was a large man, black of skin with one terrible scar across his face that did not diminish how gentle his eyes could be. Naevia’s heart stopped beating once when she saw her brother - so small on the ludus sand - stumble into the path of one of the mighty swinging blades and the new champion stepped in his way, blocking Pietros from harm. 

And Naevia saw the way Melitta’s eyes followed the man, shining with something that looked like hope. 

Their dominus called him Oenomaus.

*

She was seven when her mother was sold.

Pietros was already working in the ludus fetching water for the gladiators and trying to stay very small, hidden, out of any man’s line of vision. He was not there when she was taken. He did not get to say goodbye.

But then, neither did she. 

She was waving the fan back and forth near the new lady of the house (Lucretia was her name, and the old dominus had no love in his heart for his new daughter-in-law) when three men came to the villa. Domina simply pointed. “She’s the one.”

Her mother had been attending to the old domina, and she was bid to put down the heavy carafe of wine, and the men simply began to carry her off. 

Naevia gasped and opened her mouth to cry out, but she caught herself before she did. Mother turned around, her gaze meeting hers, and with her mouth closed, Naevia heard her voice.

_No. Stay alive. You are my heartbeat now, stay alive._

“Girl, I bake in this heat!” The old domina hissed and Naevia resumed moving the fan back and forth, watching the graceful form of her mother growing smaller in the distance, walking heel to toe.

*

Much later, she heard Domina speaking to her husband, who was the only person who seemed to care that her mother was gone.

“What of the children?” He had finally said, anger already starting to ebb. “Who is to look after them now, they should be sent off to-”

Before Naevia had the chance to gasp in fear, Domina spoke up again, all worry already gone from her mind. “You cannot separate two who have shared a womb, the gods do not look favorably upon such things. Even if they are slaves.”

_We are children,_ Naevia thought. _And we need our mother._

But her mother had already given her the most precious gift, since the time she quickened in her belly- her brother beside her to keep her safe and warm. And he was still hers to keep.

*

It was two days before she saw Pietros again. He was already sleeping downstairs, always attending the ludus, and finally he had come up to the kitchen on an errand for herbs for the medicus and Naevia seized her opportunity, pulling him back behind the sacks of flour, to where they had hidden as children. He was angry at first, disbelieving her, but as realization dawned, his face (so like her own) crumpled and Naevia put her arms around him, muffling his tears against her shoulder and allowing hers to fall silently.

“What will become of us?” he whispered. Someone called his name, and he drew back, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. “They will not part us, sister. I will not allow it.”

And then he was up, running back to his duties.

*

Weeks passed into months. The old domina died, of a gripping sickness that came along suddenly. Naevia did not mourn her, but while the rest of the household bowed their head in prayer to the gods, Naevia petitioned her mother’s beautiful face. _Stay alive._

Naevia and Diona spent most of their days on the balcony with Melitta and the new domina, who was fashioning herself as the lady of the house with ease. She watched her brother on the sands, but he could not lift his eyes to her, many days. He always had to be watching the gladiators. _What will become of us?_

*

Esyilt’s people were Celts, and she remembered some of the older stories, and a few words of the old language. 

“Do you know where my mother came from?” Naevia asked once, and the woman shook her head, smiling sadly. 

“She was born in Capua, and never said where her people came from before that.” Esyilt’s voice went softer and she patted Naevia’s arm kindly. “I think that she did not know.”

Naevia turned away so that Esyilt would not see tears form. It was such a small thing that did not matter; it would never bring her mother back. 

She was busier in those days, with more tasks and responsibilities, and did not know when she would have another moment alone with Esyilt to ask such questions.

“Please...did you ever know...of our father,” Naevia’s voice was near a whisper. 

Esyilt’s face went softer yet. “He was a gladiator. Sold to a lanista of Sicilia before you were born. He was an honorable man, Naevia. But...Dominus favored your mother. And he would not have shared her attentions.”

It was one more thing that she did not have.

*

Months passed into years and Naevia and Diona grew, side by side. Melitta led them by example and kept them out of trouble, out of the domina’s line of notice. She showed them the proper way to serve at meals, taking care that they left no detail unpolished. Though Naevia was somewhat pleased at the increase in her responsibilities, she was unsure why Melitta would be absent from the supper service.

“It’s only for one night, and then,” Melitta blushed and stopped herself, smiling at the two younger girls. “I...am to be the wife of Oenomaus.”

Naevia and Diona glanced at each other. They had never heard of such a thing.

Melitta continued, her eyes downcast. “It’s a great honor the Dominus afforded him, for his victory against Niaxos. There has never been such a champion. He was told he could have a house, or riches...he asked to take a wife.”

“Did you know to expect this?” Diona asked, breathless. She reached out a hand to join with Naevia’s and squeezed. Naevia squeezed back.

Melitta was thoughtful for a long moment, her eyes shining. Naevia could see her happiness. It was a palpable thing. “He has been kind to me. And most importantly, I was given choice. No, I never dared hope, but...Such a blessing.” And she reached her arms out to pull the two girls into her. “Sometimes the gods do listen.” 

Three nights after, Naevia and Diona shared the duty of supper service while Melitta was married to Oenomaus in the manner of the Numidians. The gladiators were in attendance, so Naevia made a point to ask Pietros all that he saw the next time they were together.

*

“Sister! Did you see Barca’s victory against Vettius’s pig? Oh, he sent that fuck to the afterlife properly!” Pietros was smiling and laughing despite his bloodthirsty words and he ran to her, lifting her in his arms, so much larger and stronger than she remembered him. 

“Brother! Shhh, someone will hear,” Naevia could not help but smile, even as she scolded him. It had been so long since she had been able to touch him. He seemed to have forgotten his years in the villa, allowing his bare feet to slap loudly on the floor instead of being silent. And he smelled of the sand and the men. “What is your purpose away from the ludus?”

“Stale bread. Do you have any you can spare from the kitchens?”

“Of course, but,” she cocked her head in surprise at the strange request. “What could you possibly...”

“It’s for Barca and Auctus,” her brother answered, and she did not miss the way his eyes lit when he said the name of the man called the Beast of Carthage in the arena. “They keep doves, and I said I would help.”

Naevia laughed to herself as she wrapped the bread in a length of coarse cloth. “It does me good to see you, brother.”

He cupped her face in one hand and kissed her brow. “I told you once, they will never part us forever. But for the moment...”

Naevia smiled back. “Go.”

And she was still smiling as she heard him singing to himself, the song she often heard late at night from the ludus after a victory of the brotherhood. _My cock rages on, my cock rages on..._

*

Naevia and Diona attended the domina on the balcony when new recruits were brought in. Naevia did not favor it. She had already seen too many men go to game and never return from the arena. It was not worth learning names, and always seeing Melitta cringe with fear when Oenomaus went off to fight.

The men were always filthy, brought in from a slave ship in Niapolis, or bought at auction in Capua after a long, weary road. The stench reached them on the balcony, but Naevia didn’t dare look away. Some men were already dead, she could see it in the slump of their shoulders. No fight, no will. 

Others were defiant, cursing out at Doctore, and ready to run the moment they were unshackled.

There was a Celt who had to be wrestled down by three guards, and even after Doctore’s whip lashed out at him, he screamed. _“Téigh trasna ort féin!”_

Diona gasped at Naevia’s side as she heard her mother’s language. He was from a Brittani tribe. 

“Quintus, he will never be of any use,” Domina mused. “Send him to the mines at once.”

But Dominus shook his head, swilling another cup of wine and motioning for Melitta to bring him more. “No, a fire like that can’t just be passed by. We will give a chance to that beast, to see if he can be tamed to our will.” He called down to Doctore. “What do you call that Celtic shit?”

“Speak!” Doctore barked at the Celt, who only grunted and snarled. 

It was Oenomaus who stepped forth from the brotherhood. No others dared to incur Doctore’s wrath, and very few ever took pity on new recruits who had not yet proved themselves. Naevia could see Pietros peer from behind Barca and Auctus.

He went to the man, towering over him as he spoke quietly. Then turned back to the balcony, first smiling at his wife before addressing his dominus. “He is called Gannicus.”

*

Gannicus was tamed to their Dominus’s will, soon rising to only second in the ludus behind Oenomaus.

Melitta spent one night in seven belowstairs with her man. When she returned the next morning, always with a faraway smile on her face, Diona pestered her with questions of Gannicus, the dimachaerus Celt who would not be defeated, and always greeted his opponent with a smile, Apollo come to earth. 

“Did you see him this time, Melitta?” she asked breathlessly. Sometimes Gannicus offered such a smile up to the balcony, and Naevia would see how Diona would blush prettily. 

And Melitta would always laugh, “Yes, he is forever at my husband’s side.” It did not escape Naevia’s notice, the high point of pride in Melitta’s voice to call her man _husband_. She brushed back a strand of soft brown hair from Diona’s brow. “Little flower, there is more than enough time for you. Put Gannicus far from your thoughts for at least a few more years.”

And she would walk away humming to herself, while Diona and Naevia shared a quiet giggle between themselves before Esyilt called them back to the kitchen.

*

Pietros was only allowed into the villa every so often. To pick up herbs, or sometimes to fetch Dominus when he was needed in the ludus. But he had slept belowstairs for many years. So Naevia was quite surprised to see him when she was sent to the kitchens for a glass of water for Domina well past midnight.

“Brother,” she called softly, to his back.

His form stilled and he looked over his shoulder. With a few quick strides, she was at his side. “What happened? Are you hurt?” She did not know at the time why she asked the question as he had no visible injury, but in his eyes, she could see. Yes, he had been hurt. Perhaps irreparably.

It was in his slow, pained gait, nothing like his usual free and easy movement. The slump of his shoulders, the bow of his head.

She reached a hand to comfort him and he winced away. “Don’t. I’m...I must be filthy, I must go wash.” He was speaking as though in his own head, as if he did not know her. But then he lifted his eyes to hers. “Sister, what has become of us?”

*

Since they were children, Esyilt had looked after all of them; Naevia as well as her own Diona, and Melitta and Pietros as best she could. She gently steered them away from punishment, and tried to protect them from their own dreams. Naevia would watch her with Diona at times, and close her eyes and try to imagine her own mother’s arms around her once more. _Stay alive._ She could still hear her mother’s voice in her ear.

Esyilt was all of their strength. And Naevia didn’t know of a world without her.

There had never been such a fever as that in the villa, six afflicted overnight and two dead by morning. By the third day, only Esyilt remained. She burned with fever, and murmured incoherency to Diona, feebly trying to push her away. “Go,” she whispered with ragged breath. “Go.”

But Diona would not leave her side, and Naevia stood behind her. The dominus and domina had left the ludus in fear, taking Melitta with them (she had sobbed when she said goodbye to the girls) and the gladiators were gone too. Dominus would not risk their health- not from illness anyway. Pietros was taken too, to water the horses. 

_They won’t part us, sister. I won’t allow it._

He looked behind him as Naevia watched them all leave the house, one hundred slaves and the great Batiatus family, leaving two little girls to tend the sick.

And to bury the dead.

Celts did not burn, Diona knew this, her mother had told her. Naevia wondered if she was preparing her daughter to one day be without her, to carry on her ways. Diona was still small enough to slip through the gate, and she climbed up and opened the lock so that Naevia could open the door, and together they carried Esyilt from the house of Batiatus. She was buried in a white shroud, with bread and a carving knife to see her to the other side. Diona had found a flat, shining stone which when she was a little girl, and they played with it, calling it the hidden jewel. She buried this too with her mother. 

The shovels were heavy and the sun was on its descent by the time they had laid Esyilt to rest and Naevia walked Diona back to the ludus, cradling her around the waist. 

They were all alone in the world. The domina had told them that the family would be back in a month’s time, and they were expected to behave. She did not worry that they would run away. Two small girls who had seen nothing of the world had nowhere to go.

“You are all I have,” Diona finally said, very late that night, as they sat on the ludus floor under the stars. Listened to the waves crash on the cliffs far below. “We are as one, Naevia. You are my whole world.”

Naevia put her arms around the other girl and squeezed tight.

*

The house was still, waiting with baited breath.

Oenomaus had fallen to Theokkoles. Oenomaus, the gladiator; Oenomaus, the slave. The house of Batiatus depended on him. All would fall to ruin without his strong hand to hold them to position.

Melitta had been inconsolable the night that they brought him home. She cried out, screamed to her gods, to whom she prayed with all she had to offer every evening. Why were they forsaken? “Not him, do not take him, not _him!_ ” And Naevia whispered the only prayer she had ever known.

_Stay alive, stay alive, stay alive..._

And...he did.

Little by little, his breathing grew easier, and finally he opened up his eyes, and formed the name _Melitta_ with his mouth. She was brought to him, weeping in gratitude. When they were alone again, Diona turned to Naevia, to whisper in her ear.

“Will Oenomaus fight again?”

“I do not know, sister.”

Diona was quiet for a long time, lost in her thoughts. “He is a good man. He loves Melitta, truly loves her.” Naevia nodded, even though it was quite dark and Diona couldn’t see her. “But still,” she paused. “He will never be champion again.” Naevia nodded again. “Gannicus will rise.”

At this, Naevia had to smile fondly. The Celt was never far from her thoughts. In fact, he seemed to preoccupy her more as the years passed. 

“Oenomaus was offered a wife when he became champion. Maybe Gannicus will be offered the same?”

And Naevia laughed softly. Their dreams were so fragile, and it did no harm to hope. 

As Diona’s breathing evened out and she slept, Naevia turned her thoughts back to Melitta and Oenomaus. 

_Stay alive._

*

“How I envy your youth.” The woman called Gaia laughed gently, the sound a musical tinkling, but Naevia shivered, and clenched fists at her sides when the woman reached out to caress the softness of Diona’s cheek. Her kindness cloaked an evil, of that, Naevia was sure, and she steeled her ears agains the sound of her voice. When the woman sauntered back into the shaded cool of the villa, Diona peeked over the railing to get one last look at Gannicus, as she always did. Before Naevia ran off to follow them, she too looked over the railing, once more at the Gaul Gaia had taken such an interest in.

With long, curly hair flying about as he thrust his sword, he looked more beast than man. Oenomaus schooled him strictly, and his back was on the ludus sand more than he stood upright. 

But he kept rising to his feet.

When the woman called Gaia held his fate in her hands, to let him live or die, Naevia found herself holding her breath, waiting for the answer.

And when life was granted, she exhaled in relief.

*

None was right with Melitta. She had been withdrawn and anxious for days, distracted from task, and Naevia had more than once seen her wiping tear from her eyes. In a quiet moment, she moved to ask her sister if she could help, but Melitta sent her off to another task, keeping her troubles a mystery.

There was no humming or faraway smile when she returned from nights in her husband’s arms, turning away when Diona asked her usual questions of Gannicus.

The woman called Gaia’s tinkling laughter rang softly in every corner of the house, and Naevia knew that the woman had brought evil with her.

And Diona...Her dreams of Gannicus had been dusted with starlight and scented with flower petals. All came crashing down as the chill moved over them, when they were commanded to remove their robes by their domina. Naevia reached a hand to her sister, forcing the other to stay at her side, no matter how she longed to try to cover herself. And to follow Diona where the Roman man led her away, how she longed to follow her, how she longed to not be separated.

When Naevia found her brother in the kitchen, he seemed to know at once what had happened. “Thank the gods,” he exhaled sharply and she looked at him, aghast. “I would not wish such things on Diona, she has never done anyone any harm. But you remain untouched and safe. There is no greater wish in my heart, dear sister.”

At Domina’s party, when Naevia glimpsed the full extent of what Diona’s role to play in the ludus now was, she could not tear her eyes away. Every thrust and grunt seemed to breathe down her own back. 

Diona had always said they were as one, and no matter what, Naevia could not - _would not_ \- be separated from anyone else she loved.

But then Diona looked away, shielding her face, and Naevia’s heart fell. She was losing Diona, all choice removed from the matter. As always.

An empty jug of wine was thrust in her hands, and Naevia quickly looked to Melitta’s solemn gaze. “See this to the pantry, and remain there until I call upon you.” Each word was weighted with purpose, and the words she did not speak rang in Naevia’s ear.

_Stay alive._

*

“ _Such pretty cheeks.”_

That was what Gannicus had said to Diona when the whole of the household had been presented to celebrate his victory against Stagmetes in the arena. She had leaned forward, tightly squeezing Naevia’s hand, and when her idol called out to her, over his shoulder, her cheeks had colored to a more blushing pink. Diona had walked on air for a week afterwards, always with a faint smile on her lips. That had not been so long ago, but how the world had changed in the interim.

It had been weeks since Naevia had seen Diona’s smile. And her cheeks were no longer that lovely shade of pink, but a stark white. The woman called Gaia had been spirited away from this house, but her ghost lingered, past deeds haunting Diona and placing Domina under a veil of mourning.

Naevia watched Domina, genuine sadness creasing her face. She could not feel anything for her. Her sadness, her pain meant nothing. Domina, who had seen her mother sold, who had given Diona’s smile over to cruelty.

But Melitta spoke to her in hushed gentle tones, promising to preserve the memory of Gaia, and even enlisting Naevia and Diona’s obediance in the matter. Naevia stilled behind them as Melitta comforted Domina. Melitta, who along with Diona, had seemed to fade by the day since Gaia had come into their lives. 

Naevia felt her toe softly bump against something heavy and solid and looked down to see a small satchel filled with Roman coin. She looked back to Melitta, who still bowed to the hand which beat her.

She, Naevia, would not. 

And for Diona, there would be more than staying alive.

*

Pietros always seemed to know when she really, truly needed him and would come to her in secret, in their childhood hiding spot, as soon as he was able. Naevia waited for him there, biting her lip until it bled to hold back her sobs. She was not missed - the house was swayed to the bedside of the man who had died upstairs, with very few giving thought to the woman who passed below.

“Sister,” his voice was shaking and Naevia fell to his arms, grateful she would not have to say the words. “Melitta - gone,” he cried, and then repeated it twice more. “And Diona.” Naevia held him tighter. She had not burdened him with her secret and she would not, either.

_Stay alive._ She had never prayed so hard before, for her mother, or Oenomaus, or even her dear brother, as she did for her sweet friend, alone in the world. Diona had always been quick and small, easy to escape notice. She had often slipped through the gates undetected, to visit her mother’s resting spot, but always came back for Naevia. _Stay alive._ Naevia pulled Pietros into her and drew on his energy.

“Gone, gone,” she repeated, the words finally giving way to tears she had held, since watching her mother walk away from the ludus, toe to heel. “Brother, you are my whole world now. What will become of us?”

*

It was Melitta’s cloak. That was all Naevia could think of when Domina pointed to it, told her to put it on. The garment was finer than any other she had ever worn, and still held Melitta’s scent, of rosemary oil and lemons. Oenomaus - _Doctore_ \- had looked at her sharply when she emerged from the villa behind Domnia, and she lowered her gaze, unable to face him. The freshly tattooed mark upon her back still stung, every time the cloth fell against it.

It was Diona who had always wanted to see the games, who had watched the arena grow, stone by stone, with wonder from the balcony in the villa. And it was Diona who would tell Naevia all about the glories Gannicus would achieve within. And then Melitta would call them back inside, back to work. 

And now, she, Naevia, was the only one left.

Naevia looked over the crowds from the vantage point of the pulvinis, the crowds screaming for blood, nearly shaking the wooden beams of the stadium in their excitement.

But all Naevia could hear was the crack of the whip as slaves brought stone to build foundations. The _murmillo_ , the Gaul, he had been such a stonehauler, Naevia was certain she had heard that.

_Naevia._

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Naevia had heard her mother’s voice in her ear at times over the years when she felt most lost, but always in a quiet moment. _Naevia._ It came again, more insistent, and as she allowed herself to look to the sand, she felt her mother reach with icy fingers to keep her from crying out.

Diona was bloodied and battered. If she had indeed been branded _fugitivus_ , as she had feared, Naevia could not see for her wounds. She knew the moment she was seen, the moment Diona felt her presence, and shared her fear, her wild, desperate grief...and her resignation. _You are my whole world. We are as one._

Naevia was a fool. There was no safe place in this world for a little slave girl.

_Naevia._

Melitta’s voice in her ear, and then Esyilt’s. _Send her to me._

Naevia looked back to Diona on the sand, holding her gaze and her friend’s last plea.

_Stay alive._

Naevia answered just before the blade robbed life from the pretty little Celt girl, with the loveliest pink cheeks.

_Be free._

*

Much of Naevia’s life was nothing.

She attended Domina; she stood, she poured wine, she stood, she got into the bath with her, and out of the bath with her, and then she stood. She stood in the bedchamber when Domina laid with her husband, listened to his rough words, his hoarse cries, and forced herself not to look away. She was not to look away, but she was not to see, either. And she was to be seen by nobody. Her life was filled with nothing.

Sometimes Domina would have one of the other girls pleasure Dominus with hand or mouth before they coupled, and though it shocked Naevia at first, she stopped being afraid of it after a time. Though it was not an easy thing to turn her eyes from the girls sent in from the kitchen, or the gardens to perform this task.

“Hand,” Domina would reach for Naevia’s palm, and she moved between her thighs without any more prompting.

Domina had little patience for Naevia’s timid touch the first time she was made to pleasure her and after a few sharp strokes across her neck, Naevia learned to shut off her mind, her thoughts, the voices she heard, and moved herself to stay alive, whatever the cost. It was not what Diona, or Melitta had endured, and she would not allow herself to be broken. She was the last of them left. She lived for them.

She had been with Oenomaus when he saw Melitta’s ashes below ground, so close to where Esyilt had been laid to rest. She hoped they brought comfort to each other, and she hadn’t heard their voices since the day of the games. As for Diona, Naevia had sent all of her thoughts and wishes along with Gannicus, that she might follow him and see the world from his point-of-view, the way she always wanted. He was the only slave she had ever known to win his freedom, and he needed a good, gentle spirit to guide him. 

And Domina had kept her promise. Naevia attended her only, and so long as she stayed by her side, she was in no danger.

So many times, she and her brother had asked each other what was to become of them, and now Naevia knew the answer. 

If a slave was to stay alive, she must close her mind and not be seen. Live a life of nothing.

*

Sometimes days, or even weeks would go by before she saw Pietros again. It was different in this life afterward, of course, she could not slip away so easily as she could when she had Melitta and Diona to share the world. But even aside from her own difficulties, Pietros would not always come at every chance he had.

She did not blame him, or find fault with him. He managed to find a shred of happiness and hope in this place which had taken so much from them. And under the protection of the Beast of Carthage, she worried less for the brother who seemed so far away from her. 

And yet...Her heart missed him, missed all the comforts of sharing her thoughts and fears with him, with anyone. He was all she had left. They were still connected, as they were as children...but she only had him by half, if that.

And yet she could not begrudge him his love, could not feel jealousy of Barca when she knew all too well how fleeting any happiness might be in this place.

Sometimes, he would lift his eyes to meet hers from the ludus floor, when she stood on the cool balcony in the shade. _You are my whole world,_ she would think, smiling down at him.

And he would smile back, and she knew that he heard her words.

*

“Bring me the Gaul.” 

Like so many things when she first came to be a body slave, Naevia did not understand this command at first, but learned quickly. And attending the games with Domina had helped her to learn the names of the men, which were Germans or Numidians, which were _murmillo_ and _hoplomachus_. There were many Gauls at the ludus, most who fought in the style of _cestus_ but when Domina made such a request, Naevia knew there was only one she sought.

On days or some late nights when Dominus had business that called him away from the ludus, Domina would send for Crixus, the new champion of Capua. It was normally the call of Naevia to secret him upstairs and through the villa to Domina’s bedchamber. At first, Naevia was pleased with this task, thinking in this way she might be able to steal a glimpse of her brother as she waited by the gate, but that seldom occurred.

The champion was a smaller man up close, much smaller than he appeared in the arena, though Naevia had seen what he could do with sword and shield. But yet, it was a thing of note to see the man before her, as a man, and not the god who thirsted for blood on the sand.

Sometimes, when they reached the bedchamber, she could feel him still behind her and would look over her shoulder to meet his gaze. He watched her in a curious way. 

He saw her. 

“Lamiaceae?” He asked, his voice low and startling. She turned to see his eyes curiously dark and wondering.

“Apologies?”

“The scent, I recall it from the fields when I was a child.” She found herself struck thinking of the champion of Capua as a boy. It was hardly enough to consider him a man. “The oils, they held healing powers and...”

The bath oils. Naevia had the responsibilty of bathing Domina, a small kindness that allowed her to also be clean. He was studying her closely and leaned in even nearer, breathing deep. 

But she was to be seen by nobody, and she drew back the curtain once again. “Domina awaits.”


	2. Chapter 2

“And what of you, little flower?” 

Naevia’s hand paused over the platter of fruit she had been arranging to bring to Domina’s bedchamber. Fruit had been rare in the house these many weeks, with the drought, and she longed to keep a peach for herself but she did not dare. She turned, holding the platter in her hands in front of her, before Ashur, the Syrian, could step too close to her.

“Domina awaits,” she said, eyes lowered, hoping that he would just let her pass. She could not look at him without hatred; Melitta had called her _little flower_ , her and Diona. She did not know how he would know such a thing. But he seemed to know all of the secrets in the walls of this house, and she knew him never to use his ways for kindness.

But he did not move out of her path. “Please, I must go.” Her throat felt dry and dusty, she was so very thirsty, but there would be no more water rations until the next morning.

He was smiling, his teeth a brilliant white in his swarthy face. She had heard several of the bathslaves whispering at how handsome he was, despite the burns and the crippled leg, but such talk quieted after a few moments in his company. He was cruelty and evil, this Naevia knew, as she had always seemed to smell it. “Come now, you have no wager for the night of the test? One of the few games Dominus allows for us, you must join in the fun. Might I suggest placing a bet on the local boy, with the golden curls? He has much potential, and after all, he’s one of the few who knows what to expect in the arena.”

The local boy, Varro. He had a wife and small son, she had seen them in the marketplace, the woman (hardly more than a child herself) doggedly trying to bargain the grain merchants down one denarii further. What could bring a man to these walls of his own accord?

Naevia shook her head. The test. Three quarters of the men brought to the ludus never even lived to see it, and only half passed. All she could do was her best to not watch, and not hear. “I have no coin,” was all she said.

He lifted an arm to block her path sideways. He did not touch. Even he did not dare that far. “None is necessary.” And then he let his eyes lower, taking her in. She could not escape invisible this time.

“Ashur.”

The Syrian’s slick smile disappeared quickly at the deep voice and he turned to where the ludus’s fearsome _doctore_ stood. He narrowed his eyes coolly. “Dominus sends me to fetch you. He is not pleased to find you absent from your post.”

Ashur spared Naevia a quick glance before he hurried away, and she let out a shaky breath that she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. Doctore still stood in the doorway, hand at his whip until the sound of Ashur’s footsteps disappeared in the distance. “Gratitude,” she breathed out, but he stepped closer, leaning in his head towards hers to speak softly.

“Listen carefully. I will not always be able to shield you from Ashur- and he is not your only danger in this house.” He paused, not saying word of Diona. Though she saw him quite infrequently, she knew that he never spoke of the past. “You approach an age where more will be required from you than bringing wine and helping Domina to dress.”

Naevia’s lip quivered. “What can I do? In this house, we...we do what we must.”

Doctore sucked in a quick breath and they both stood still, silent for a long moment. “And I will do what I can, for you. Stay safe, if you are able. And ask the gods for shelter.”

He turned to go, but Naevia called softly to him. “Please, Doctore? Tell my brother, I...” But she had no words. He nodded in understanding. And as she watched him go, she spoke again, under her breath. “Gratitude...Oenomaus.”

*

It was hidden jewel. Naevia had to suppress a sound of pleasure when she lifted the necklace and laid it against her skin. Cool and smooth and the same gray as her mother’s eyes. Holding it against herself, she remembered how Diona had tied string around a stone just like it to fashion a much cruder piece of jewelry, and how she laid it with such care next to her mother’s cold body in the ground.

“Too common,” Domina dismissed the bauble with a sneer of her lip and the necklace was set aside, for a heavy gold and emerald piece, gaudy and cold around her throat. And Naevia’s robe was pushed from her shoulder. Domina did this quite often, as she had trouble envisioning the jewels against such a rough, plain background, and it did better to see them only on bare skin. But ever since Oenomaus’s warning, Naevia cringed and did her best to not fly her hands up to cover herself.

Price settled with the jewel merchant, Domina headed back into the villa, leaving Naevia naked on the balcony. And she had broken the rules. She had been seen. With one glance over her shoulder, she could not escape the eyes of the champion of Capua.

She knew him now, and he knew her. At least twice a week (or more often, depending on Dominus’s absence) she met him below stairs, to escort him to Domina. He was lightning quick on the sands of the arena, but she felt his steps slow behind her of late, asking questions- how she fared, had she seen his last victory. He even stepped close often, to catch a scent of the lamiaceae oils, even though Domina was bathed in the same, and he would be in her arms soon enough.

And these were the things she knew of him: that he saw her, that leaned closer to her, but did not touch, that he chattered nonsense to hear the sound of her voice. 

“Domina awaits,” she whispered, too ashamed to meet his eyes.

*

“ _Perhaps this gift can explain where words fail.”_

And then he was gone, silently retreating into the shadows.

His hands on hers- she had never felt such a touch, rough hands moving so gently, she found her skin burning long moments after, especially once she saw what was in the wrappings that he gave her, warm from his own skin and carrying the particular smell that she placed with him alone- sunshine and the heavy oil the gladiators were scraped in and something else that she could not name, but craved.

It was the hidden jewel, the necklace that Domina had deemed too common, the necklace that was the same color as her mother’s eyes and had been Diona’s treasure. 

Naevia clutched it in her hands, squeezing her eyes and mouth shut against any oncoming cry and breathed to herself.

_I live for them all now. To stay alive, a slave girl must be nothing._

*

She watched Domina and Crixus from the shadows. He had a name, and she thought it his right to be called by it, even if it was only in her thoughts. He had not always been the champion of Capua, he had once been a boy in Gaul, and he had a name. 

And he was in her thoughts.

Even from a distance, she could see the pale silver glint of the necklace against Domina’s skin. She heard his grunts and the words that spilled forth from him. His voice...not roughened in passion, but nearly...dead. No fight, no will.

She had watched Domina couple enough times to know that it was not the same for a man and woman. It was not for Crixus as it had been for Diona. He did not suffer as she had. And yet...

No fight, no will. 

Even the champion of Capua was still a slave.

Domina kept the necklace, the gift that had been meant for _her_ , for Naevia. Not the slave girl, not the nothing. Naevia’s eyes were always upon it, and she cursed herself for not thinking in the moment. Who knew the villa better than she did? She had been there the longest, she and Pietros. She had had many hiding places where she could keep a hidden treasure.

But now it was too late, and Crixus would not meet her eyes, did not slow his footsteps to ask silly questions when he was summoned. She wished she could speak to her brother about it, the only person who yet cared for her, and at least he knew something of men. But Pietros hardly ever strayed upstairs. When he had a free moment, he would go swiftly to Barca’s arms, and she would not take that time away from him. She stayed alone upstairs, in her nothing world.

*

Naevia could not breathe. Not from dust and the heat this time. She could hardly keep her legs under her and stay standing, could hardly keep her heart from pounding out of her chest, and her lips, how they burned...

He had kissed her. A real kiss, a kiss she had never seen him give to Domina, had never seen the likes of before, ever, had never imagined how this would feel. All of her body, all of her heart so engaged, with the sensation lingering, rolling through her, and warmth. Such warmth.

Not warmth. Heat.

He was too much, too much male, skin and heat and low voice in her ear, saying her name.

He was too much and she was nothing.

Naevia touched a finger to her trembling lips and tried to remember her rule, first and only, to stay alive.

And for the first time in a very long time, she longed for something more.

*

“Pietros,” she whispered at the gate, and then said it again a bit louder. She had but a moment, and feared her brother would not come.

But then he was there. He always knew when she needed him.

“Sister, what are you doing here?” His eyes were etched with concern, hooded with sleep. He touched his hand to the bars of the cage, reaching through to join their fingers. She pressed her waterskin into his hands, but he shook his head refusing to take it. “No, I will not have your ration.”

“Please,” she insisted. She had kept a cup for herself and there would be more water in the villa tomorrow. But her brother toiled all day on the sand, running about and carrying weapons. He had a greater need than she.

But he still hesitated. “Take it. Please.”

Pietros looked down at his feet, toeing the sand in front of him. “Barca’s fortunes grow.”

Naevia nodded. “He is a great gladiator.”

Pietros still looked down. “He moves to secure freedom.”

 _Freedom._ Naevia sucked in her breath. She hardly ever dared to even form the word in her mind. “He...would leave you?”

Pietros finally looked up. “He saves enough for two.”

It took her a second and she felt her heart plummet. 

_You are my whole world._

_They won’t part us._

“I won’t go,” he said, very quickly. “I couldn’t. Sister, I will never-”

“You must!” Her voice had raised and she immediately cowered, glancing behind her. There was no activity. The house was quiet. Her brother was looking at her with wide eyes and she clasped his hand through the cage. “When your man has saved enough coin, you fly this house, and do not look back.”

“But you-”

“ _You_ are my heartbeat, and I will not have you break under this roof.” _As all the others have,_ she did not say. 

Pietros set his mouth in a tight line. “Perhaps with a bit more time, there could be enough to-”

“No, it would take too long.” She shook her head. She would not have it. If her brother had a chance...there would be nothing else.

They both heard it -- the clink of keys meaning a guard would soon pass by, and she waved him off with one last look. He took the water.

*

Crixus was hers.

This was her first thought when she saw the woman from Rome, the senator’s daughter, trail her delicate fingertips all over his skin. 

Naevia nearly gasped out loud at this thought. She had never laid claim to anyone or anything, in her whole life, but venom rose, tasting bile and bitter when she saw another woman’s hands on him. It was ridiculous, as she had been witness to him laying with Domina- always from the shadows, but it was still not a new thing.

_He is mine._

She fought against the voice, the greedy urge to cross the room and clutch him to her, to put her hands all over him as the Roman woman did. She fought, and lost.

_He is mine._

*

He had broken her first rule.

If he did not stay alive, what was there after that? What could there be?

It was different for men, she knew this. It was different for the gladiators. They longed for blood and sacrifice, and a glorious death. 

Naevia must live for everyone else. She knew no other way.

“Still a fool,” she said, quietly, through tears she could not hide, as Crixus reached for her and brushed them away with his thumb. He bore her back against the wall. No, it was not him that moved, but her own feet, drawing him into the shadows, where she finally laid her own trembling hands on him. He was sun-heated marble, hard and warm, under her fingers.

When he lowered his mouth to hers for the second time, she knew once again, she had been wrong. Not only was he hers, but she was his, bound to him with chains so much stronger than the ones that bound her to Domina and this cursed house. No matter what happened, her heart would always be with him. _Stay alive_ , she thought desperately.

But it was no longer her first and only rule.

She melted under his touch, and Crixus, the Gaul, the warrior, the man, knelt before her, still dwarfing her with his size and strength. “Please,” he murmured, his voice so wrought with longing and desire, she wondered what it was that could render such a man so weak and humble. 

With a shaky breath she replied, “I thought you said that love drains a man.” It was what he had said to Domina- for once avoiding her advances, and she in turn, for once, relenting. Naevia did not stop touching him as she spoke. She had never known such heat as his skin.

With gentle pressure, he drew her down to him, cradling her between his legs. He surrounded her, too much male, skin, and heat, and she...was far from nothing. “In the right arms, it can give him hope.”

*

 _“Not him, do not take him, not_ him!”

Melitta’s words sounded in her ear, for the second time she had stood in this very pulvinis. But it was not a ghost, not a presence that she felt this time, not a spirit. It was not a memory of a woman, her friend and sister, who had watched her own man fall to this giant.

The voice was her own.

All in the pulvinis were shouting, cheering, over wagers won and lost as the Thracian continued to take on Theokkoles himself, and her strangled cry was lost in the commotion, but Naevia clamped a hand over her mouth, as if she could take back her words, her plea. This was not her way, she did not move to passion. She stayed alive.

_Stay alive, stay alive..._

But the words had no power here, not where she had seen Diona fall, not where she had first worn Melitta’s cloak. And she found she could not release him as she did Diona, she clung to his fragile spirit from the pulvinis. 

_I am bound to you, you have my heart, you cannot leave this world._

And then Naevia felt rain.

Exultation swept through the arena, and she glanced to the side where Theokkoles, the giant, had fallen, absent his head. Dead.

Crixus lay still on the sand, bloody and...Naevia looked closely, squinting her eyes through the raindrops. His hand moved, slowly, over his chest, resting on his heart, and Naevia wept, her tears mixing with the rain, and she whispered in gratitude. 

_Stay alive._

*

The rain drowned them all. Days passed so swiftly, and all there was, was the rain, rain, rain. Sweeping away all of the dust and the blood and the stench and the dry, creeping death that had hung over the countryside throughout the drought. 

Days passed...and she watched Crixus struggle and gasp and tremble and waste away.

Every morning, when Dominus left for town (and he was always in good spirits, as he had much business to attend to now, with his new champion), Naevia and Domina would swiftly go to the medicus, and they would inquire over Crixus. Domina would yell and scream and threaten the old man who had been there for three generations, and had seen it all. Crixus’s wounds were not exotic to him, and he did not shrink as Naevia did, ashamed as she was to admit it. The room stank of putrid, unwashed flesh, and burning herbs, and this man who had so recently been so strong and vital and alive (and _hers_ ) had shrunken away, his brown skin a pallid gray. And still, he clung to life- whatever fragile hold he had on it. 

She watched him fight, the once champion of Capua, the undefeated Gaul...the warrior, the man, her man. 

And she could not plead with him to do more than that.

*

Something was wrong, so very, terribly wrong. It was her immediate thought when she saw Pietros in the villa, dripping in rain and the wine the gladiators celebrated with belowstairs. He was escorted by a clutch of guards, and she had never known him to have such great importance by the masters of the house. But when he saw her, she could see that he smiled, with such joy, as she had not seen since they were children.

_He is leaving me._

Her heart at once flew to the heavens- Pietros would be free, he would leave this place, live a life with his man, and never again feel the whip at his back, never again obey a command that was not his own wish. Even as the tears spilled over her eyes, she could not mistake the feeling of peace and gratitude. And once again, she felt her mother with her. _He is our heartbeat. It goes with him._ Joy.

“Sister!” He ran to her, even as the guards grumbled for him to move along. They were little better than slaves themselves, though they so loved to wield their power. Dominus would have their lives for any minor infraction, and they took it out on those beneath them. 

“Back to the ludus, boy,” Hector, one of the particularly cruel, grunted, his voice slurry with drink.

“A moment, if you please,” Naevia sneered. Her voice sounded nearly as icy as Domina’s. She wondered if her mistress would be proud of that.

“Sister, I...” He stopped in front of her, and she took him in, how much he had grown. She had too, she supposed, but it was always so much clearer when she gazed upon her beautiful brother. He was strong and healthy- not as large as a gladiator, of course, but he would always be able to find work, with his man at his side. He would have a life. A good life. “Oh, fuck all,” he muttered and threw his arms around her, sweeping her up over the floor.

Naevia clung to him for life, memorizing everything about this moment, the feel of his arms around her, and the earthy, sunshine scent of him. _My heartbeat, my whole world. Do not look back._ She drew back and kissed his bow-shaped mouth, giving him the goodbye she had not been able to bestow upon Diona, Melitta, Esyilt, or their mother. “To say that I have loved you would never be enough,” he whispered in her ear. “I take you with me, dear sister.”

“Always,” she whispered back.

*

Everything was wrong, so very, terribly wrong. 

This house had meant loss and suffering all of her life, but Naevia had never seen it so close and personal and... _Barca. Pietros._

Naevia crouched in her childhood hiding spot, and waited for her brother. He always knew when she needed him. And he needed her now, so very badly. Why did he not come? 

Domina had struck her when she stood staring at Barca, the great Beast of Carthage (Barca, the warrior; Barca, the man, her brother’s man), cut down by their own Dominus, his weak hand slashing across the great gladiator’s throat. The pool running red with his blood. Domina struck her again for good measure. Naevia wondered if she remembered whom her brother was, how they had been allowed to stay together as children because it was a crime against the gods to separate two who had shared a womb.

Or if it did not matter at all, a slave’s life, a slave’s heart.

Barca, Pietros, Diona, Melitta, Esyilt...their mother. These people, the masters of this house, had taken them all.

And just this morning, the Thracian, pulling his woman (his _wife_ ) from the cart, bloody and dying, drawing her final, ragged breath, with the small mercy of looking upon her love one last time. She was beautiful and young, as Melitta had been. (As they all had been.) And Domina and Dominus walked away, with small, secret smiles, that sent chills down Naevia’s spine.

And she realized...they had done all of this. 

All of the evil under this roof, inside these walls, came directly from their hands. She would never be safe. She, Pietros...Crixus. They would all fall, eventually. There was no escape from this house, all who were young and innocent suffered.

 _Stay alive,_ she tried to sound it in her head, but it felt so weak, her own thoughts were so very far away. She had to tell him. This could not stay silent, it could not...

What would he do?

Would he live through it? Could his tender heart survive such a thing?

“Pietros,” she whispered, as loudly as she dared. Why did he not come? 

*

When her mother had been sold, taken from this house, from her and her brother, she had said nothing. She watched her walk away, and did not utter any words of goodbye, did not run after her for one last time in her arms. She clung to her brother, made him her heartbeat, and stayed alive.

What was left of her heart now?

She had begged Domina to allow her to lay him underground, with Esyilt and Melitta, and perhaps, they would be able to guide him to their mother, and to his man.

_He is our heartbeat. It goes with him._

_They won’t part us, sister. I won’t allow it._

_You fly this house, and do not look back._

Domina had struck her for her tears. “You are not Celts. We won’t have any of this foolishness.”

But they were not Romans either, and she did not want his ashes scattered to the wind. 

He burned, of course, salt and smelt spilled over the ground to wash away the bad omens of a slave taking his own life under the roof of the house of Batiatus. He would not be forgotten so easily. She went by herself in the night, through the gate, the same way Diona had when she had been such a small child, taking one of his pet birds. She sang to it, the soft, sweet melody she remembered in sweet dreams, being sung by her mother’s lovely voice. And as the last note hung on the air, she broke the gentle bird’s neck. 

She buried the thing he loved, digging at the earth with her fingers (there was ample rain to wash all dirt and blood away in the villa) and whispered out loud, “Be free.”

Slipping back through the gates, the way she came, undetected, back to the medicus cell. She was meant to be watching over Crixus, while he recovered from the fevered dreams. More often than not, he slept, and she watched him breathe. But he was awake when she returned, eyes sunken with worry and pain. “Where did you-” he began, but she held a hand to stop him, quickly glancing around to see that they were completely alone. 

He reached for her hand, caked with dirt and blood, but she did not answer his silent questions, instead laying her lips on his brow, soothing back his hair. _You are my heartbeat now, stay alive._

He waited patiently, and finally she opened her mouth to speak. “I was seven when my mother was sold...”

*

“There are few of us left.”

Naevia looked up from the bird she held in her hands, to Doctore standing in the arch of the cell where Barca and her brother had slept. “Apologies?”

“Few of us who have survived this house for as many years as you and I,” his mouth tightened into a firm line, and it was as close as Naevia had heard him reach to say Melitta’s name since her death. “Your brother’s delicate heart. Barca - I never knew him to be careless with it.”

 _So few of us left._ Naevia longed to spill all of the secrets she knew from the upstairs world, to the one person who had known and seen all the ones she loved from this life. “Domina awaits,” she whispered, before fleeing the cell.

*

Naevia learned that Crixus, too, had brothers.

He had four of them, and four sisters and she smiled when he told her that he had been the smallest, and the youngest. She thought of him a little boy with laughing dark eyes, falling asleep in fields of lamiaceae, happy and free. He had been ten when the Romans came, his father and oldest brothers killed trying to defend their village, and the rest sold off and scattered. His mother and sisters were raped by the soldiers before they were sold off, too. He had told her all of that in a whisper so quiet, the memory turning his eyes cold, the horror still too near. It would always be too near, this she knew.

But he had happy moments to recall as well, roaming free in the dark, cool forests of Gaul, the grandest of villas for a young boy. She listened, her face resting on her palms as she sat by his bedside, loving the sound of his voice, the sweet ache of happiness in his words. And she told him, of her whole life within the walls of this house, of Pietros and Diona and Melitta and Esyilt. Her mother, her gladiator father, what little she knew of him. 

And then he would be summoned by Domina, and all of their fragile little worlds of childhood memories and hushed voices, stolen brushes of fingertips would crack and shatter all around them.

He did not lay with her. They had not but that last night before his battle with Theokkoles, and the memory of his hands upon her, inside of her, burned through the long, empty nights. And she stifled tears when Domina lay her hands upon him, though sometimes he could not make his cock rise. He blamed his still healing injuries, but Naevia couldn’t help a thrill of greedy satisfaction that he would not perform.

_See nothing. Be nothing._

Still other times, it could not be avoided. Afterwards when she brought him back to the ludus, he would not raise his gaze to hers, his face crossed with shame, and she remembered the same look on Diona in her final days in this house. When she could, she would take his face in her hands, kissing him fully on the mouth, trying desperately to wash away all shame, all the pain, and give all of her heart, all that she had to give. 

*

_Sold._

Naevia had frozen, unable to breathe when she heard Dominus utter the word and Domina had been too preoccupied with her own thoughts to notice until she was halfway across the house and then screamed for the girl to make haste. The news had seemed to give Domina a frightful headache, and all she required for the remainder of the afternoon was rest, while Naevia waved a fan over her. She had done this task since she was a small child and it allowed her to get lost in her thoughts, the dark, dark future of this house without Crixus in it.

For what had she stayed alive for, all these years, for everyone -- _everyone_ \-- to leave her all alone in this house. Sold off, dead, dead, dead, _dead. Sold._

“How can Quintus do this, Crixus is _mine,_ ” Domina moaned in her own despair, and Naevia knew that she was not expected to respond but she did, in the quiet of her own head.

_He is mine._

_Mine._

_Mine._

*

He was not sold.

She did not thank the gods that Lucretia prayed to, she did not think of her mother, who had been silent since her brother left this world. 

She touched him through the bars, fingertips only, and wept.

*

The house of Batiatus grew rich under by the victories of Spartacus, the Bringer of Rain. Naevia had not seen such finery since the very early days, since Oenomaus himself had been champion. 

Naevia spent much time in the ludus, under the guise of helping the medicus with Crixus’s healing, and she could only smile when he grumbled at how he longed to return to training. She did not. She would keep him far from his sword forever if she could.

“Do you understand that my only worth is the glory I can bring to this house?” He had said, and she could not answer at first, knowing how close he came to being sold.

“Your worth is all that I have, all I can give, and all that I am,” she answered, stealing a moment to kiss his mouth, in their own world.

New slaves were brought in. Carpenters and stonecutters to make improvements on the house, and new cooks for all of the entertaining Domina was doing, and so many new girls for this purpose as well. One of the girls was named Mira.

Naevia was afraid to speak to her, for a time. She was used in the same way Diona had been and so many others. Naevia feared what she would see in the girl’s eyes: no fight, no will.

But her voice was not cowed, was not dead, even though she said _yes, Domina_ without a hint of defiance, Naevia dared glance at her. She was not dead. Mira was of an age as her, and...It had been so long since she had another girl to talk to.

*

_You are my heart. I will never doubt the beating of it again._

Naevia could not help the smile on her face as she returned to Domina, her man’s words still in her head, his touch lingering on her skin. _There has never been such a man as Crixus._

The man who saw her, who was her heartbeat.

 _You hold all of my heavens and earth in your hands,_ he had whispered desperately against her mouth. _All that I am, you are everything. There is no world without you._

_A slave girl must be nothing._

_You are everything._

*

Naevia tried to put it from mind -- she had stolen before and it had led to tragedy. But this was different. She was not trying to escape, not trying to push her man from these walls. Instead, she clung to him, would not let him go. She could not live without his touch, and she would not waste more time or opportunity with _anyone_ she loved.

And Hector -- she had seen him use the girls cruelly, place blame on other guards for duties not being carried out when the fault was his own. Everyone under this house stole, master and slave alike.

And Crixus was hers. Every moment between them belonged to them alone.

*

The house was under a hush.

Straight after the magistrate and his family left, Dominus cleared out the rest of the guests and took to his bedchamber. Domina had followed him, insisting on privacy and Naevia managed to run to Crixus’s side before he and the rest of the brotherhood were brought back to the ludus.

“He was a child,” Crixus had said, his voice shaking in a way she had never heard before, even through the gravest of his own injuries. “He was cut down by the whim of a child.”

Naevia pressed herself into him, wildly grateful that it was not her own man who had been cut, deeply ashamed for feeling grateful at the blood and death of another man.

They were nothing, _all_ were nothing to the masters of this house. Even the prized gladiators who brought honor, glory and wealth, who were proudly called titans by their master and put on display for admiration amounted to no worth as human life.

Mira, the new girl, had the task of cleaning the blood from the floor before it dried and stained. Naevia knelt to help her and wash this night away so that they might both sleep for a few untroubled hours, but the girl threw down her brush and soap, letting it clatter on the floor. “Fucking monsters,” she spat, and Naevia raised her eyes in fear. The house was yet silent and still.

“He was a _man_ ,” she continued, angry and careless. “Just two nights ago, I brought his wife to him, full of hope for the future. Tomorrow at first light, Domina sends me back to her, to tell her that her husband is dead.”

Naevia thought of this woman she had seen in the market so long ago, and the small boy with his father’s golden looks. “Monsters,” she repeated, under her breath and Mira paused, one eyebrow raised. She was quite pretty, even beautiful, even if she did have a frighteningly hard look in her eyes.

“So you do have a voice,” she finally said, but Naevia put her head back down.

_A slave girl is nothing._

_Stay alive._

*

Her man was a fool.

A slave must always be nothing, but for a gladiator...

She had half-hoped he would never be well enough to return to the arena. Domina would find him a place in the ludus, she would never let him go, and Naevia would always have him close, safe, alive.

Still, her heart contracted with fear, stopped beating entirely for a second, and she gripped his face tightly in her hands. “You _must_ stay alive,” she swore, searching his dark eyes for any sign of fear, any hesitation at all. There was none. He was a fool.

But he was so alive, and she could not help pulling him back closer, for another kiss. “I know the love of a goddess,” he said, against her lips, his voice low as he chuckled. “And I am only a man. I must strive to be a god myself.”

*

_Stay alive, alive, alive._

She had not stopped repeating the words over, and over, since turning her back on Crixus in the sand, following Domina out of the arena and back to the villa. Once she had helped her undress and to bed, she waited on the balcony, for any sign of a cart on the road. None came. Only the men, all walking, and she could hear Rhaskos and the other Gauls singing, lauding their once champion, that old song. _My cock rages on, my cock rages on..._

He lived.

And when the house was dark, Naevia sped to her man’s arms, and as he held her against him, she felt his heart beating next to hers. _You are everything._

“Ten,” he said. “Denarii. The winner’s purse.”

“And what would you buy with your fortunes?” Naevia asked softly. “Women and wine?” They both laughed, and he shook his head with a smile, only for her. He had settled her across his thighs, and she ran her hands over the muscles of his chest and arms, still rippling with the day’s excitement. She had once been so shy to touch him, and now they both delighted in it.

He held her hand against his mouth, kissing each fingertip softly. “Freedom. For us both.”

Naevia stilled in his arms, looking him in the eye. There was no jest, no doubt. Once again, her heart stopped beating. She had seen what happened to too many who had tried to leave this house.

But her man...he was everything.

For what else had she stayed alive for all these years?

“All that I have, all I can give,” she began to say, but he interrupted.

“They will never part us.”

*

It was a curious thing that, after so much loss, so much death, Naevia could still know such happiness. Always with one ear cocked for any sign of danger, always poised and ready to take flight. But always, always, every chance she had, she was with Crixus. His fortunes grew quickly, with Dominus and Doctore placing him in lower matches where he was easily the victor. The primus of the games was still saved for Spartacus, who remained champion of Capua.

In secret, Naevia was grateful for Crixus’s position as second best. The most important thing was, as always, to stay alive. But she knew that he wished to regain his title before he left this house, so Naevia added to Bringer of Rain to her prayers, that he would stay alive and keep all as it was.

With his labors in the arena, Crixus’s lovemaking took on a new, fierce urgency that left Naevia weak at the knee whenever she thought of the last time they were together, the next time she would be in his arms. One night, after he had wrenched himself from inside of her, spilling his seed on the sand at her feet, he was quiet for a moment, all shuddering breath and quivering, trembling muscle. “Someday,” he said, brushing his lips against her damp brow, and she struggled to regain her normal breathing as well. “Someday, I will put a child in your belly. And he will be free, far from this place.”

 _A child._ It was a wish that she had never allowed to linger, but when he spoke the words, she thought of a free boy in Gaul, wandering through dark cool forests. She thought of Pietros, hot under the Capua sun, bearing the mark of the ludus on their tenth birthday.

_A child. A free child._

_Stay alive._

*

“Where do you take me?” She asked the guard, and he did not answer, and when she asked his partner, he struck her across the face with the back of his hand. She did not ask again. Her face was swollen on one side, and her abdomen ached where Domina had kicked her over and over.

“ _Did you hope he would get you bellyful? I will whip that child from your filthy slave cunt.”_

When Mira was asked to bring a knife, Naevia could not even form the words in her mind, the will to live, and she did not breathe as Domina sliced the hair from her head with rough, uneven slashes. _“Your betrayal, you little bitch...I should have sold you off with your whore mother, and now I set you on her same path.”_

Naevia tried very hard to hold the image of her mother’s beautiful face, but all she could see was Pietros, cold on a wooden slab in the medicus. Diona and Melitta, their pretty faces distorted with blood, and Esyilt, wasted away by fever. 

And Crixus. Limp and defeated, and hanging from his wrists, his powerful gladiator’s body whipped raw, still with foolish thoughts of freedom on his lips. 

_I will find you._

_You are my heart._

_You are my whole world._

_Our heartbeat goes with him._

_They will not part us._

No. NO. Too many broken promises from these walls, all of the will to stay alive for nothing. There was no life; there was no place for a slave girl in this world. No fight, no will.

Ashur, the evil Syrian, had been the one to put her to cart, and when she saw the smile on his face -- she knew that he was happy, he had intended this all along. “All for Crixus?” she said, with pain from moving her unhinged jaw and just saying her man’s name. 

“Yes,” he answered, without any of his usual tricks and riddles. No longer anything to conceal. “Crixus was the one who betrayed me, made me half a man.” He reached out a hand to touch the feathery remnants of her thick, dark hair. He had looped his fingers in it the night before, saying that he had never touched anything so soft, and she thought he mistook her sobs for tears of modesty. “My designs were all for him.” He dropped his hand away from her.

“You are nothing.”


	3. Chapter 3

There were three men, two great brutes and one smaller, whom they called Trebbius. He was in charge, and by far the cruelest. But this was something she learned later.

At the first villa, she thought that she was being sold. Would she work in the kitchens? Her hair was badly shorn and ragged, she wasn’t fit to be seen serving in the house.

The first man took her quickly. He was old and without vigor. Still when it was over, she found she could not walk, could barely breathe. One of the brutes returned, hefting her over one shoulder and deposited her back by the cart. She was given a bowl of porridge, but she could not bring herself to eat it. Trebbius shrugged and put the cart back to the road.

It was the same the next day and the day after that. Always a different man, different faces, different cruel hands. One man simply strangled her as he stroked his own cock. She passed out and woke up back in the cart, soiled in fluid, with another bowl of porridge. She tossed it out of the back of the cart and Trebbius told one of the men to turn around and beat her. And when her face was swollen, he cracked an egg, pouring the yellow yolk down her throat and forcing her to swallow.

Her empty stomach protested immediately and as she lay in the stink of her own vomit (and the Strangling Man, and all those who had come before him), rocking unsteadily in the back of the rough cart, Naevia had one thought only.

_Please._

_Let me die._

She slept for a time, a dreamless black sleep, and when she woke, they were at another villa and she was being pulled from the cart.

*

She lay in the kitchens of the villa as Trebbius and his men were generously offered wine and hospitality by the dominus who had just had her. The stone floor was rough and cold but better than the unsteady cart. It had all the same smells as the kitchen where she had grown up, hiding behind the flour sacks with Pietros and Diona. _What has become of us?_

At the slightest sound, Naevia jumped but it was a soft voice murmuring, “Apologies.”

Naevia didn’t move from the floor. No more men.

He knelt beside her and reached out. She flinched before he touched her and he had already drawn back. “I think you have not eaten in some time,” he said and his voice was very soft. She looked up at him. He had long black hair and dark skin. He laid a small piece of bread next to her on the floor, on top of a rough cloth and a cup of water.

“My dominus is sleeping with a barrel of wine in him. And the men who brought you here, the same. Tonight, you can sleep.” And then he was gone.

Naevia eyed the loaf. It was fresh, probably his own ration. She laid her hand flat in front of it. To what point, would she fill her belly? 

_Please. Let me die._

_Naevia._

She stirred, but felt too weak and tired to lift her head from the floor.

_Naevia._

Louder. She could not ignore it. He would not be ignored.

“Pietros?” She spoke out loud, holding her breath and tightening her fists until her ragged fingernails dug into her palms.

_Naevia._

This time, his voice was very close, clear in her ear. Naevia thought that when she had been pulled from Crixus’s arms, she would never shed another tear, but she felt her cheeks go wet and hot and then she could even smell him, sunshine and earth and the trace of their mother that she had left on her children. Warmth encircled her, and Pietros spoke again.

“Naevia, you must stay alive.” She struggled weakly but was soothed and held tighter. “You yet live. You are my heartbeat, all that is left. You live, dear sister. Stay alive.”

Naevia thought of Crixus, the last words she had spoke to him -- _we yet live._ And he spoke of freedom. Two fools, why hope, why dream? _You are everything._

_Naevia._

She heard her brother’s voice again, who had once told her that they would never be parted. Not Crixus, who had sworn the same. She thought of them all, all who had been gone, lost, taken -- Crixus was still alive.

_Stay alive._

The whisper was so soft, Naevia did not know who spoke it.

She sat up slowly, with much effort, and broke off a small piece, carefully chewed and waited. It stayed down. She took another bit, and another, even scraping the crumbs from the cloth. She drank the water. She was so tired. She laid back down on the stone floor and felt her brother’s warmth surround her once again. If this was madness, she was happy to lose herself in it.

 _You take me with you, Naevia,_ his voice grew softer. _Tonight, you can sleep._

*

Naevia listened to her brother -- she stayed alive. She shut off her mind and was nothing, as she had been all of her life. She ate the watery porridge Trebbius gave her and slept dreamless dreams, her body rattling in the back of the cart. The days grew colder, and her dress was badly torn.

One day, she was brought to another house, and pulled in front of the dominus, as she had been every other time. But he sneered at her. “What manner of gift does the house of Batiatus send? She’s filthy and looks half dead.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “I have no use for her.”

Naevia breathed as she was brought back out of the house, moments later and put back in the cart. It was over. She was no longer fit to be used. It was over.

They were back upon the road for an hour, maybe more when the cart stopped abruptly. Naevia looked up at the sky, the sun pale and high in the sky. They had stopped at no villa, no watering hole. They were nowhere.

Trebbius climbed into the back of the cart with her. “I’ve waited long enough now,” he said and dropped to his knees, lifting his clothing away from his hips.

No. No more men.

“No,” she said, twisting away. He pulled her back, taking a knee in each hand. “No!” She said it again, this time kicking him. He growled in pain and punched her twice. Still she kicked her legs and screamed, and did not see the flash of his knife. He slashed across her face in a jagged line and it stilled her enough for him take her. When he was done, he nodded to the two brutes. The first one did the same, holding her down with one giant hand while she cried, but the second shook his head.

“She does look fucking dead.”

*

It had been a threat she had heard Dominus shout many times in a temper. _I’ll sell the lot of you to the mines!_ And she had never known what that meant, or what it would be like- just feared the threat, which she did not even know could be real.

Because this place could not be real. Swarming, ripe with rotten human flesh and disease, in a place where hunger and the whip were all there was. Naked men, women and children dropping dead at any moment. She was pushed further into the darkness, the filth and steaming hell of the mine. 

_I should have sold you off with your whore mother, and now I set you on her same path._

She tried to raise her voice, to tell herself to stay alive, to plead for Pietros, her mother, her unknown father...

_Take me with you._

But no loving warmth closed around her, no soft words in her ear.

For what had she stayed alive for?

With one quivering breath, she formed the name of the only voice she had not heard. 

“Crixus.”

Nothing came back to her.

She was pushed farther into the darkness.

*

_Naevia, you are safe._

She tried to block out the voice, but it kept ringing in her ear. Crixus’s voice, it had been a lifetime since she’d heard him and now she heard nothing else.

She stumbled on the uneven ground, her legs not stretching out below her properly. She had been hunched over, bent in the mines for...how many days? How many days had it been since she had eaten?

_Naevia, you are safe._

No, NO. She knew now what it meant when she could hear the voice and the person was not there. 

_Stay alive, stay alive..._ What for? Hope of Crixus? He lay dead by the Syrian’s hand.

She stumbled again, twisting her ankle this time and cried out as she fell, her hands coming up to cover her face before she fell into the dirt. What did it matter now.

Hands on her, strong hands lifting her against a broad chest. “Naevia, the Romans, they will be at our heels.” Spartacus had barely broken breath, hefting her against him and continuing to run. 

But she could not bear these hands. “No,” she said hoarsely, and then cried it again, weakly pushing herself from his arms and tumbling to the ground. It was enough to give them all pause and he reached down for her again.

“No,” she coughed, this time catching the dirt in her throat. “No more men.”

His eyes were compassionate, but he reached for her again.

Mira stepped between them. “No more men,” she said clearly, and after a moment, he backed away.

Mira offered a hand to Naevia to help her to her feet and after a second, she took it. It was not so pleasant to touch a woman either, but tolerable. Mira lowered her voice so only Naevia could hear. “But you must keep up.”

Naevia nodded in understanding, daring to look behind her. All was quiet, but the soldiers would be there before long. The mines would not pause them forever. She started forward, her eyes on the ground, watching Mira’s swift feet and she found it was easier, if still painful, to hop heavily on the ankle she had not twisted, though she was still slower than the rest, she could keep them in sight.

_Naevia, you are safe._

She fought against the voice, biting her lip against the pain, and followed Spartacus into the forest.

*

“You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

It was Mira’s voice but Crixus’s last words, mocking her. What was safe? How would she ever be safe again? When had she last been safe? When she and Pietros wrapped around each other in their mother’s womb?

One man already dead on their trail and countless others in the mines. And _Crixus_. And...Ashur. In the mines. Had that been real, or mad, starving visions?

Mira stroked her hair as she would a child and told her of what had happened, the fall of the House of Batiatus. “Domina?” Naevia asked, and remembered herself. “Lucretia.”

“We thought all had been left dead,” Mira answered, her voice very low and her eyes searching in the darkness for any sign of movement. “But Crixus saw her in the marketplace before we fled Capua.”

_Crixus._

At his name, tears flooded Naevia’s eyes and Mira crouched over her, holding her and soothing her with soft noises. “Shh, shh.” And then she whispered, her voice more desperate. “Please Naevia, do not cry out.”

Naevia bit her lip. She could not have more death on her hands. She was nothing.

“He turned the world inside out looking for you,” Mira continued, her voice haunted. “it was all that he cared about, for you to be safe.”

Naevia wanted to laugh, bitter and ungrateful. There were no safe places in the world. And there was no light without Crixus. She, Naevia, was left all alone. Again. As always.

“And all the others...”

“Would have followed Crixus anywhere. They still held each other as brothers. They loved him.”

_I loved him._

Naevia closed her eyes and thought of Crixus as she first saw him with long wild curls, and how he felt in her arms with his voice in her ear. 

_You are my heart._

_Take me with you._

She pleaded desperately but received no answer.

*

This man was familiar, she knew that. The shape of his face and the low murmur of his voice when he said, “Just a bit more. A few steps.” He lied, but his hands and voice were kind. He had taken her under one arm when she was too weak to go on and past the point of protesting.

As he lay on the ground, his brown skin white with blood loss, she remembered. _Tonight, you can sleep._

No. Not him. This one could not die. While Spartacus prepared his sword in the fire to seal the wound, Naevia brushed the long black hair from the man’s brow. “Stay alive,” she whispered.

*

The morning dawned bright and beautiful, and Naevia watched the sunrise from the crumbling wall of the temple.

She had not slept. Mira had left with Spartacus and Agron and another handful of men, promising to return Crixus to her arms. Naevia had barely breathed since they disappeared into the darkness of the forest.

How dare they promise such a thing?

She recalled Spartacus pulling his wife from cart at the ludus, all of his life’s hope and love leaving his face, and...he knew her heart. _Please, please stay alive. Return to my arms._

She repeated it over and over in her head as she slipped down from the wall. The old Roman man, Lucius Caelius, had told them the night before that theirs were the first faces he had seen in these woods in years. She walked, not very far, she was certain. She was still very weak, even after filling her belly the night before for the first time that she could remember in so very long.

After a time, Naevia came upon a spring and knelt by the side to take a drink of water. She gasped at what she saw reflected back at her in the ripples. Hollow cheeks, the bones under her neck prominent and sharp, her skin an unhealthy gray, the mark Trebbius left on her cheek healing crooked and angry. _She does look fucking dead._ She shuddered at the voice in her ear, looking to the sky.

Dipping her hands in the cool water, Naevia drank deep and splashed it on her face, her arms, through her wispy hair. It was starting to grow back in uneven lengths. The woods were quiet around her, and as she ran her hands down the crusted material of the dress she had worn since the night she had left the house of Batiatus, she could take no more. She shed the thing and stepped into the water, wading up to her shoulders.

_Return to my arms._

Naevia stared up at the blue sky, sending pleading thoughts to any who would hear her. _Crixus, stay alive, stay safe. You are everything._ She thought of Spartacus, Mira, Agron...all those who risked life for her man. _Stay alive._

A quiet rustle in the leaves of the trees abruptly broke Naevia out of her prayers, and she ducked down in the water, eying her filthy dress, much too far away to offer cover.

It was the man with brown skin and long black hair. Naevia felt her heartbeat return, but she still held breath. He was watching her.

“You,” he breathed, and Naevia could see the struggle in his words. “You saved my life. They would have left me for dead.” His face was all gratitude, keeping his eyes on hers, not straying below. 

“You,” Naevia returned, thinking of that night on the stone kitchen floor. “The bread.”

His eyes narrowed in thought and then went wide in recognition. He nodded at her. “You yet live.”

Naevia couldn’t help a smile. Yes. Yes, despite all of the world fighting against it, she yet lived. 

The man was standing over the scraps of her dress and he bent and picked it up, frowning in distaste. After a moment, he dropped it where it had been and drew off his own cloak, standing in his subligaria, and held the garment out to her. Naevia stayed below the water, holding her arms around herself.

“Come,” he said. “We have brought clothing from my dominus’s - I mean, from the villa where I...” He could not find the words to finish, but held the cloak out again. Naevia did not move.

He lowered his voice, gently, and she remembered that he had twice made her feel safe. “You must not fear me.”

Naevia let out a shaky breath, and eventually crept toward the shoreline, leaning forward in the water for as long as she could. The man kept his eyes on hers, and deftly wrapped the cloak around her shoulders when she was close enough, taking care not to touch her.

He sat back down at the water’s edge, leaning against a tree, and wincing with the effort. Naevia sat across from him. “I am Nasir,” he said, after a moment.

“Syrian?” She breathed.

Nasir blinked his eyes. “A lifetime ago. I was sold to bondage when I was seven years of age.”

Naevia bit her lip. “So young?”

“I was beautiful,” Nasir said, without trace of conceit or bitterness, and Naevia did not ask further question.

She looked at the ground, finally feeling her skin free of grime. “My name is Naevia.”

Nasir smiled. “I know. Crixus has spoken of you.”

Naevia closed her eyes at his name. _Stay alive._ It was beginning to become clear that she would, it was always her way, to stay alive at all cost while others around her fell. _I am bound to you, you have my heart, you cannot leave this world._

Nasir shifted, watching her. “What do you know of Agron?”

 _That he risks all for Crixus._ “That he is a good man.”

Nasir smiled wider at this. “Yes, this I know” His smile began to fade. “I pray there is time to learn more.”

Naevia thought back to her first night with Crixus, before he fought Theokkoles with Spartacus, how that sweet night seemed to go on and on, and give her strength in days to come. She knew very little of the German gladiator, but formed his face in her mind. _Stay alive._ She cleared her throat. “I remember that he had a brother, who fought on the sands beside him.”

Nasir looked over at her, the shadow of his beautiful smile. “Yes, this too I know. I also had a brother.”

Naevia smiled as she heard the words in her head, the words of a seven-year-old boy who smelled of sunshine. _They will not part us, sister. I will not allow it._ She pointed to herself and nodded. “A lifetime ago.” 

*

_If you dream, I would never have you awake._

It was no dream, and as if to prove it to himself, Crixus could not keep his hand off her. He rested it at her hip, cupped the back of her neck, clasped her hand, and did not leave her side. She would have been nowhere else. _Alive. You are alive._

Lucius Caelius prepared a feast for the returning heroes, and all abandoned tasks and responsibilities to celebrate. While Spartacus and Donar regaled tales of the arena being brought down on the heads of the crowds who cried for blood ( _and they GOT it_ , Donar had shouted, to much laughter), Crixus kept Naevia close. His hands were always on her, trailing over her skin, and every time he pulled her in tighter, to brush his lips against the top of her head, or to gently pull her face to his, to look into her eyes, she felt her heartbeat quicken. He was hers, so familiar to her and yet...it had been a lifetime.

As the sun began to set on the first day Naevia had taken a deep, honest breath in so long (possibly all her life), Crixus stood, pulling her up by her hand and quietly leading her back into the temple 

“You leave us so early, Crixus? There is more rejoicing to be done!”

Naevia blushed as Donar called out to them. They did not escape notice so easily.

“I require rest far more than the same story you’ve told since the road from Capua,” Crixus said dryly, meaning to inflect his words with casual indifference, but Naevia could see the urgency in his eyes and gasped when he gently squeezed her hand.

Donar raised an eyebrow. “Fine then. I leave you and your woman to the deepest slumber.” The men laughed and cheered loudly at this, and Naevia saw Crixus’s cheeks color. Mira, huddled with Spartacus in one corner, smiled at her from across the yard, and Naevia’s eyes met Nasir’s, sitting with Agron.

“Come,” Crixus whispered over her head, and pulled her along.

When they reached the inside of the temple, to the small dark cavern near where Oenomaus slept fitfully, Naevia saw how Crixus winced when he sat down. “You still have injuries,” she breathed, trembling voice betraying her fear.

He smiled softly. “Nothing that will not heal, now that you are once again in my arms.” He pulled her down to his lap, drawing his arms around her and running his hands down the bare skin on her back. She cupped her hands around his face, wet with tears, and it was she that pulled him down to her, touched her lips to his and opened to taste him.

“ _Naevia._ ” The sound of her name on his lips was a desperate groan. “I have been starved for you.” He removed her dress, running the backs of his fingers down her skin, lips following fingers, and Naevia sucked in her breath.

He was Crixus.

_Not these hands._

He was hers.

_She does look fucking dead._

Stay alive, stay alive - for what, all these years?

_You are nothing._

He knelt between her thighs, settling his weight on her, and she cried out, in such fear that he jumped back, confusion flooding his eyes.

_No more men._

*

Naevia had retreated back to the outside wall, and Crixus had not followed her. She found herself at the same spring where she had prayed for his return, sat back against a tree and cried, biting her lip to muffle sound and holding her arms around herself. 

It was over. All that she had fought for, to get back to Crixus, to have him returned to her -- she could not bear his touch. She could not bear his eyes on her, hurt and confused...had it been pity? 

Naevia shuddered. Was she ever to truly be free?

_Naevia._

She gasped, all hair standing on end. It had been so long.

_Naevia._

“Diona?” She called out, her voice alone in the darkness.

Gannicus had returned with them from the arena, carrying Oenomaus upon a litter with Donar. And he carried Diona with him still, Naevia knew this now, that her sweet friend’s presence had watched over her Celt. What had she seen of the world?

_Naevia, you live. So be free._

But she did not know how. She had always been nothing, and stayed alive.

*

There were familiar faces from the house of Batiatus. Melania from the kitchens watched over the sick and cheerfully called out instruction to the women to keep the grounds running, and keep all supplies stocked, every mouth fed. She had taken to freedom like a fish to water. 

“Naevia, bring water to the men in the yard.” The command rolled off, and the natural inclination to hop to obey pushed her to move, but Melania’s eyes softened. “Please, my dear.”

She eyed Crixus in the yard, splitting tree branches to make spears and arrows. She remembered watching him from the balcony in the villa, behind Lucretia, how his muscles would catch the sun, how she would love to watch him move, love to feel him move with her, they had been so connected...It could not all be lost. He swung the axe again, the sound of the blade swinging through the air. 

Naevia touched her hand to her cheek, the scar not yet healed.

*

_Naevia._

She paused, her fingers running along the sharp edge of Crixus’s blade, alone in the flickering candlelight. 

It was madness. After all this time, her only comfort and company was to be ghosts.

_Naevia, you live. You are all that is left. You must fight._

*

“Naevia!”

She was struggling in the clasp of strong hands, arms wrapped around her, and she did not place the voice that called her name, just screaming _no_ , over and over, and then the world came back to her. Crixus around her, others stirring in their sleep, but no one paid any mind. She stopped struggling, lowering her voice to look at her man. He was terrified.

“You shivered in your sleep and it is so much colder here in the mountains...” Crixus mumbled, holding his hands to himself, balled into fists, so careful to not touch her. They had fallen asleep next to each other, palms pressed against each other, after he had vowed to teach her how to wield the sword at day’s break, how to fight. He pulled back. “I will not sleep beside you if you do not wish it.”

“Crixus,” he stilled at her voice. “Please. It _is_ so much colder...without you near.”

He settled back and she crawled into his lap, resting her scarred cheek against his chest and listening to his heartbeat. 

“Naevia, you are safe,” he murmured.

*

Her first morning with the sword, she could hardly lift it, much less swing it at a target. Her shoulders ached and her fingers were numb from holding it so tightly, sweat and blood dripping down her palms by the time they stopped training in the mid-day sun to eat and rest. Even so, Crixus smiled proudly at her, taking both of their swords in one of his large hands, and Mira and Nasir, partnered together for practice, nodded at her in encouragement. Naevia was too tired to smile or nod back. When she laid beside Crixus that night, she was too tired for nightmares.

The next morning was better, if only just slightly. Gannicus left them, but Naevia could still feel Diona with her, even hear her laughter at times, or so she thought. That was a sweet sound, too long from this world. And eventually, Oenomaus rejoined them as well. “Do not be afraid to use your shield, little flower,” he called to her, not yet ready to take his place with sword. “As small as you are, it should be easy to miss you!”

Agron and Spartacus returned with the German refugees, and though most were glad to see ranks swell, Naevia knew that many of the Capua people (including Crixus) were not quick to trust strangers. Naevia stayed close to her man.

“Naevia, allow me to demonstrate something that might give you help,” Mira said to her one morning, a mischievous glint in her eye. Curious, Naevia followed her to where Agron had been resting, after a long hunt with his kin. Agron had been lighter since being reunited with men from his homelands, and being able to speak his native tongue. He smiled kindly at the women when Mira asked for his help, standing relaxed, and waiting for instruction.

“See Agron here, a foot taller than you and twice your weight?” Mira whispered in her ear. Naevia nodded, biting her lip, and eying his large hands, his tightly muscled chest, and doing her best to not give into fear. She had not sparred with any of the men other than Crixus, and had not allowed anyone but he and Nasir to touch her. Mira smiled conspiratorially. “Well Naevia, all men have a weakness. Do you know what it is?” And she whispered it in her ear.

Moments later, when Agron rolled on the ground, groaning in pain and clutching his groin, he swore at Mira. “You little traitor -- why would you teach her something like that?” All of the men nearby had all seemed to collectively gasp in sympathy pain when Naevia had delivered a swift knee to his ballsack.

“You see?” But Mira looked quite pleased with herself. “Even a giant can be felled, with the right blow.” Naevia’s eyes were wide, and she felt very guilty with Agron in such pain. She offered him a hand up, and he took a deep breath, still wincing.

“It was a sound hit,” he muttered with some respect. “But lesson is learned. Please, look to others for your target practice next.”

Naevia laughed, and turned back to Mira to continue practicing.

*

_I fuck the other side of your pretty little face._

No, NO, she could not have this voice haunting her, not with all the others. Naevia traced the scar on her left cheek, recalling her first night with Crixus, the first time he touched his hand to her face, murmuring, _so beautiful..._

“Naevia?”

Crixus stirred beside her, and pulled her closer, kissing away her tears. “Naevia, you are safe,” he murmured, his voice drowsy with sleep. 

Crixus propped himself up on one elbow, blinking himself out of sleep. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the scar on her face. “Do you remember when I slept in fevered dreams after battling Theokkoles?” Naevia nodded. She would never forget the fear of watching him hover between life and death. “What I remember of that time is your face when I could manage to open my eyes. But I always heard your voice. Do you know what you said to me?” She shook her head.

“You told me to stay alive. Stay alive, stay alive. The very opposite of what a gladiator is taught to yearn for. You were my first hope, the very first purpose I had for living. Please, do not lose your hope now, after all that we have crossed.” And he took her face in his hands and kissed her as he had not since he first returned from the arena. And, just like that first kiss a lifetime ago, in the ludus, Naevia began to want more than to simply stay alive.

It was time to live. 

_Naevia, you live. Do not fade. You must fight..._

From her other side, Naevia could smell lemons and hear Diona’s voice, and between the two of them, she fell asleep, feeling her fear fade away.

*

The next morning, when Naevia went back into the yard to begin training, she feared looking any of the Germans in the eye. But Agron stood on one side of her, calling out a warning in his tongue, and Nasir took her hand to partner against him. “We still have much to learn,” her new friend said quietly as he brought his sword up between them. “But you and I learned strategy a long time ago, did we not?” She smiled at him. Yes, there was much they knew in the ways of fighting with words and secrets. “That must give for some assistance.”

Nasir grinned as Naevia crashed her sword down on his, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Crixus off to the forests to hunt with Spartacus and Agron. He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled, a god in the sun.

Yes, life.

*

Naevia slept easier. She ate more. She laughed with Mira and Nasir, and reached for Crixus without being afraid of touch. The sword got lighter in her hands, though it was still a large and cumbersome thing. “Learn to wield the knife,” Mira had suggested, with Oenomaus nodding in agreement. “It will be easier to carry and run with.”

Gannicus returned, with the Senator’s daughter who had once laid her hand on Crixus, though she seemed to no longer give any thoughts towards Naevia’s man. Mira and Spartacus were troubled, and Naevia stood by Mira’s side, asking if she could help, if she could listen. “I have no troubles,” she had replied, without any conviction, but Naevia did not press.

Oenomaus and Gannicus had no warm words for each other, and to this, Naevia was more than surprised. Their brotherhood had been as close as she’d had with Melitta and Diona, and she wondered why they would not embrace such old, trusted friends.

Oenomaus sighed. “There is more to it, little flower.”

Naevia sat next to him, laying her tiny hand in his large, callused one. She was starting to develop calluses too. “There are so few of us left,” she said softly. “Who remember her as she was, beautiful and brave.”

“Remember...her...” Oenomaus sucked in a breath and he looked away from her. “How many years have you now?”

It was a question that she had to ponder for a moment. She had not having thought about it in some time. “Twenty, in the start of the summer.”

He smiled and he looked defeated as she had never seen him, much older than she had ever thought of him before. “Already past her entire life.”

Naevia let him the privacy of his tears but she continued on. “I would not see her memory fade from this world by turning away another who held her in high honor and love.”

When he turned back to her, tears wet upon his cheek, he said nothing, but nodded. They sat quietly.

There were so few of them left.

*

Naevia ran from him. 

“You will not escape me!”

She ducked behind a tree, breath held, counting beats with her heart, and when she heard footsteps approach, she silently stepped to the side (as Crixus had taught her) and hurled the contents of the water jug.

Nasir’s laugh rang out in the forest. “You sneaky little rabbit! We will have to go all the way back to the spring now.” Naevia laughed at him shaking the water out of his hair. He had begun this war though, the first time they had gone to the spring. It was a warm day, and with the contests being held at the temple, water had already run low.

Back at the spring where she had first spoken to him, Naevia leaned over the edge, taking notice of her reflection. Such a marked difference from that lost wraith she had seen that day. Her hair hung wispy in her face, and she was yet thinner than she had ever been in the ludus, but there was a color in her cheeks that had not been there before and a light in her eyes that had never been present. She looked younger than her years, so ever much younger than what she had seen.

“Naevia, do you return with me?”

Nasir called out to her, and she ran to catch up.

The contests and the wine were still flowing freely, all fights ending with good natures and laughter and embraces from both sides. Mira fought along side Saxa, the German woman who was always muttering to herself and laughing at her own jokes, but today she seemed like she laughed with them. And Naevia and Nasir were amused when Agron and Crixus spent an hour after their contest drinking and laughing, singing songs at each other in each of their native tongues. Gannicus and Oenomaus seemed to be deep in conversation, Naevia saw from a distance.

Happiness. After all this time, after all they had been through.

Throwing down her cup (her second, she had never been allowed more than a very rare sip at the ludus and it went right to her head in the heat), Naevia called out to Spartacus, who was getting ready to arrange the next match. “And who am I to face?”

Spartacus laughed gently and patted her on the head as if she were a child. “None have any quarrel with you, little flower.” And he turned back to the yard. Naevia could see Mira roll her eyes, and Crixus watching her, getting up from his seat and joining the crowd. As Spartacus stepped down, calling out for two more men, Naevia stuck her dainty foot out in front of the once champion of Capua and tripped him, feet over head, landing on his ass.

At this, all were lost to laughter, the Germans calling out unintelligibles. Naevia could see Crixus’s eyes wide with disbelief, and even Oenomaus lifted the corners of his mouth in amusement. “Perhaps I wish to make my own challenge,” Naevia returned, looking down at Spartacus on the sand, mirth in his eyes.

“Well then,” he hopped to his feet and assumed his stance.

Naevia felt no fear overtaking her, but she knew she must act quickly. She listened to Oenomaus’s instruction about using her small size to her advantage and was able to avoid his moves, and managed to trip him on his back again, to the roaring approval of their crowd. Before he managed to leap up again, she poised, her foot in position to overtake man’s biggest weakness (as so helpfully taught by Mira and Agron). “I yield!” he cried, throwing up two fingers in _missio_. 

The Germans thumped their chests in respect, those with sword and shield in hand banging them together loudly. Naevia extended a hand to her opponent, and he graciously accepted it, pulling himself to his feet. “Today’s final contest, I believe,” he called out, sheepishly accepting his defeat. “To today’s final winner, is there any prize you would claim?”

Naevia’s eyes met Crixus’s, shining with pride on the temple steps, and she ran across the yard, launching herself at him, and he caught her mid-air. She kissed him deeply, holding his face secure to hers, gripping his hair, and he held her tight, groaning against her mouth. “Naevia,” he breathed, leaning back and looking her in the eye. His arms tightened around her, and she felt the beginnings of something she had thought long since dead, and even more exciting than her renewed hope.

She wanted him, to be her man in all the ways he had been, and all the ways he could be. “Take me away,” she whispered.

Scooping her knees up in one arm, they retreated into the temple, the cheers of the crowd already retreating as their people resumed drink and celebration.

*

Death was not as it had been, all the times before. Those who had lost their lives did so under the conviction of their own will, warriors in the night. And they were mourned as free men and women. Nemetes, whose father had been a holy man in their village, took the fallen German and laid them to rest in their custom. And all others had someone to speak for them, their ways and wishes.

Naevia stood with Gannicus over Oenomaus, whom they would lay in the ground, as they did with Melitta. “They are together now,” he said quietly.

“Yes, they are,” she replied, and he nodded solemnly.

“It is as it should be. It is only that...” But he did not finish. Naevia knew.

“So many lost,” she said, looking down at the giant of a man she had once thought invincible as a child. “So few of us left. _Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam_.” Gannicus whispered the last with her, a habit long forgotten and then looked at her curiously.

“Where did you learn my words?”

Naevia smiled at him sideways. “You do not remember Esyilt and Diona?”

“Diona,” he said the name and a soft breeze blew across them, faintly smelling of lemons. “The little Celt girl with the-”

“-pretty cheeks,” Naevia smiled wider then, knowing how much Diona treasured such words from his lips. “She thought herself in love with you.” 

Gannicus raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile on his lips “She was just a child when she was taken from this world.”

Naevia remembered her sweet gentle friend’s shy smile, remembered her shimmying through the gates to visit her mother’s resting place. And she remembered Diona being passed around Lucretia’s party like a meal to devour for the entertainment of the Romans. 

“We were never children.”

Gannicus shook his head. “No, you were not.”

Naevia joined in the pilgrimage to bring Mira down from the mountain, with Crixus, Spartacus, Agron and Nasir. On the path, Naevia came across the mangled, headless body, grotesque and rotting. “Naevia,” Crixus was standing beside her, his hand on her back. 

“Leave him for the crows,” she said. Squinting, she could still see his shrewd face above the neck, evil and soulless. She could hear his words in his head. _My death will not heal your scars._ No, it would not. 

“I am not nothing,” she said out loud.


	4. Chapter 4

The season passed quietly. They built a fortified shelter into the mountains, and the Germans knew much about hunting and finding food in the cold weather. Spartacus, Crixus, Agron and Gannicus put their talents towards recruits. They liberated more ships (Germans, Gauls, Carthaginians, Syrians -- it no longer mattered where these people came from, so long as they were enemies of Rome), raided villas and even overtook the mines. Spartacus had built an army, and all were thirsty for Roman blood.

Naevia fought at Crixus’s side many times after removing Ashur’s head, and he began to trust her more on the battlefield. She even saved his life a time or two. But Naevia’s true talent, they all learned, was bringing together the new recruits and quietly settling the differences between those who could not understand one another through words. She seemed to pick up all the languages with the greatest of ease, and it gave her a position of respect among Spartacus’s most trusted advisors. But it was no surprise to her -- listening had been her only weapon for most of her life, and she was a master at it.

Even so, they were safe for most of that bitterly cold autumn. When Crixus had to be away from her, Nasir would stay close. If he knew her secret, he did not let on. Even so, all too soon, everybody would know and Naevia feared what would happen when she could no longer conceal herself under Crixus’s cloak. She already tired much sooner than she used to, much sooner than Saxa and the other women did, and she did not want to be left behind.

She had even been afraid to tell Crixus at first. This was no life for a babe, not yet, even if the Romans had let them be for a bit, they would be back when the thaws came. 

Crixus had fallen to his knees before her, pressing his face against her still-flat belly, giving gratitude for all of their blessings. At night, in the dark of their own little world where there was no one else, he laid his big hands over her stomach covering their child and whispering words of promise in its mother’s ear -- _you will be safe, you will be loved, you are my whole world_. 

_You will be free,_ Naevia would add.

It was Saxa who forced them to speak the truth when Naevia fell from her horse after a long day of hunting and gathering. She curled protectively in on herself and Crixus had run to her side, wild with fear. It called the attention of all their party. “She will be more than fine,” Agron said evenly. 

“He worries for his child,” Saxa spoke up, and Naevia gasped, covering herself. 

After a moment, Spartacus reached out a hand to help them from the ground and congratulated Crixus on his blessings. Nasir smiled at her, and she knew that he too had known all along, and she loved her dear friend fiercely in that moment. Spartacus broke a barrel of wine that night in celebration and in a quiet moment, Naevia found herself alone with Saxa. “This is not a burden you want,” she said. Her speech was still halted in the common tongue.

Naevia instinctively covered herself again, drawing Crixus’s cloak tightly closed around her. “Not a burden.”

“Not today,” Saxa said, her eyes dark with an anger that Naevia could not define. “But when the Romans return? What then?”

It was a fear that had been ever-present but easy to forget when she saw the joy in Crixus’s eyes, felt the life inside her, filling her heart and giving her strength. A _child_. A free child. For what else had she stayed alive, for what else had she fought? 

But the German woman was still staring at her coldly, her eyes dropping to Naevia’s stomach. “When the Romans return, what do you think happens to babies?”

“You do not know what the future holds,” Naevia said. “Maybe it will not-”

“It _will,_ ” Saxa spat, and Naevia froze in horror, suddenly understanding her with complete certainty. And the image she had been fighting against, of her mother walking away from her, toe to heel, flashed to the forefront of her mind.

“Saxa, what happened to your child?” Naevia asked softly, but she did not answer. She pointed to Naevia’s belly.

“You are not safe. You should leave with the Gallia man.”

Left alone by the fireside, Naevia ran her hands over her swollen abdomen. “Stay alive,” she whispered, terrified, and had the ghost of a child’s laughter in answer.

*

As her belly grew, Naevia’s dreams began to show memories of her past mixed with images that she could not believe, could not give into the fear of them. The sea by the ludus in Capua and mountains red with blood and fire. Diona and Pietros, laughing together as they ran through grassy meadows that they had never known as children, and when Naevia awoke, she could smell lamiaceae, and she pressed her face into Crixus’s side, trying to catch her breath. What was past and what was future and what was real?

One night, when Crixus came to their fireside and gently nudged her awake, Naevia knew, without a word spoken by him, that they would be leaving. “When?”

“In two days time,” he answered and she could see his uncertainty for the future. “We will go south with a quarter of the troops, and I will transfer command to Donar. Spartacus trusts him, as do I. He will make a fine leader.”

“Is this what you want?” Naevia asked, laying her palm on his cheek.

“I long for peace for you and our child,” he said, closing his hand over the curve of her belly. They were quiet for a moment, and Naevia remembered the gladiator so far in the past, who only longed for a glorious death. “It is only that I worry to travel such a vast distance, so close to your time. Do you feel you are strong enough?”

Naevia took a deep breath and smiled. “I would follow you anywhere. And it will certainly not be my most difficult journey. With you by my side, I have no fears.”

*

It was more difficult than she thought, saying goodbye to Nasir and the others. She had never left anyone before, it had always been those that she loved who were taken from her. Spartacus sent them off in a grand fashion with a quarter of his cavalry, and Donar’s pledge that they would find them back at Vesuvius in six months’ time, once they had dealt with Publicola, the latest shit sent from Rome to be defeated by the mighty rebel army. 

In six months’ time, she and Crixus would have been disappeared from their world, if all was well.

She sat on Crixus’s horse at the head of the legion, a great honor. Crixus would take one final march as their commander, with her at his side. Gannicus had given her one of the small icons that belonged to Melitta, and Naevia remembered seeing it as a girl when she had used in prayer -- mementos from her own mother, who had been taken to captivity before Melitta had been born. She did not know if she was more touched that he had kept it or that he relinquished it to her now.

“Let it be known, that you are held in the highest honor,” Spartacus said solemnly. “And that you will not be forgotten.”

Naevia’s eyes met Nasir’s. He had saved her life in every way and there were no words of gratitude that would ever be enough. “Perhaps when this war is over, we will meet again,” she had said, when they had a private moment earlier.

He smiled kindly and wrapped her in his arms. “The next place we will meet again is the afterlife.” What he did not say, but what she understood in that moment was that this war would never truly be over.

Would they ever truly be free?

Saxa had come forward, just as they were nearly ready to set off, her eyes on Naevia’s belly which had rounded past the point of any concealment. “Stay alive,” she said, void of any emotion.

Naevia sucked in her breath. “The same to you.”

*

When the birthing pains began, they had been on the march for a week, and Naevia thought she could travel further, but Crixus made her stop. He looked more afraid than she had ever seen him. She was frightened too -- she had not expected the pain to be so overpowering.

Their great army passed them by slowly and Crixus found shelter for her just off the path. He had told Donar to ride ahead and assume command while he tried to find a woman among the ranks who would know what needed to be done. And by the time he returned with a Numidian priestess, Naevia had the babe in her arms and tears of joy in her eyes.

“You were all alone?” Crixus dove for her in fear, but Naevia could only smile. She had not been alone. She had seen her mother’s face and she was happy. _You are my heartbeat._

With the slightest twinge of fear, Naevia placed the dark-skinned child in Crixus’s arms and he gazed reverently at his child. “A girl?”

“Yes,” Naevia said quietly. She wondered briefly if he was disappointed, but he touched his lips to his beautiful daughter’s face, skimming his lips over the baby-fine black curls on the top of her head. “She is perfect.”

Naevia leaned up to gaze at the child, and then kissed her man. She drew back, looking him in the eye. “Her name is Galiena.”

He looked at her with surprise, but she nodded before she spoke again. “She is a girl of Gaul, and her father is the greatest of his kind. And she will always be free.”

Crixus opened his mouth but was too overcome to speak for a moment. He nodded, tears filling his eyes and pulled Naevia to him, holding his family in his arms. “Always.”

*

They came at dawn.

When Naevia woke up in Crixus’s arms, Galiena cradled between them, the ground was gently rumbling below and her first thoughts were back to the cart, and porridge and Trebbius, but then she saw Crixus’s face relaxed in sleep and could smell the sweet, clean scent of their three-month-old daughter, and she felt safe. But then the rumbling grew louder, and Crixus awoke with a start. Galiena, too, started crying, moving her arms and trying to find her mother’s breast.

“Horses,” he said, and jerked Naevia to her feet with one hand and scooped up the baby with the other. Naevia’s heart stopped when she saw them all on the horizon -- hundreds of thousands of soldiers, so many that she could see nothing else, nothing beyond the oncoming horde.

“Fuck all, they’ve sent the entire world down upon us!” Donar pulled up next to them on his enormous black stallion. “Crixus, none would place blame on you for taking your woman and your child and _getting the fuck out of here_.” 

Crixus hesitated not for a moment. “I would be no good to you, brother.” His grip tightened around Naevia and she let out a sharp exhale. _Not him, do not take him, not him!_

Donar paused for a second and then swung down from the horse, tossing the ropes to Crixus. “Ride hard, brother, and outlive us all to tell our tale.”

“Gratitude,” Crixus said, quickly throwing Naevia up on the horse’s back. 

She looked down at Donar. “Stay alive,” she sobbed out loud and it was a prayer for all of them, but he just laughed, throwing his head back to the heavens.

“A glorious death is my fate, as is to any gladiator worth his own scars.” And he whipped his battle axe off his back and with a great war cry, ran headlong and without   
hesitation into his fate.

Crixus rode hard around the other side of the mountain, trying to find a path of escape. It seemed they were completely surrounded. Naevia clutched on to his back and tried to keep Galiena from jostling too much.

“There,” Crixus pointed off in the distance to a dark forest. He was breathing very hard. “If we can make it there, we will hide in the shelter of the trees.”

“If?” Naevia repeated, but he spurred the horse on, and as Naevia looked behind her, she only saw the red of the Roman army sweeping towards their friends, their friends who would have followed Crixus anywhere. _If only we could take you all with us._

Naevia looked down at her child, and the baby had gone still, silent and Naevia nearly cried out, but she saw that she was still breathing. It seemed their girl of Gaul had been born into war, and knew her part to help her parents fight.

Down the mountainside, and just across a vast open field, and they would be hidden in the forest. Crixus paused for a second. Nobody had followed them, but it was such a long way in the open, over a mile to the other side. They would have no protection.

He eased the horse forward, gradually picking up speed, and Naevia listened carefully. Listening, always her most reliable weapon. And there it was -- more than just four feet hitting the ground. She turned behind her, and finally cried out.

There was a pack, twenty or so soldiers on foot, running for them. _None are to escape,_ Naevia thought. _They will kill us all._ She looked down to Galiena, still silent but alert. _No, you must stay safe, you must stay alive._

“Naevia,” Crixus had turned around, his mouth set in a hard line. “Ride on. I will find you in the forest.”

Naevia saw the soldiers gaining on them. “No, there are too many, you cannot take them all!” He was not looking at her. She grabbed for his face, and screamed. _No!_ He did not mean to find them at all. “Crixus, no! No, you cannot leave me, not now, you cannot leave Galiena!”

His breath quickened, and he groaned out his words. “Naevia, you have been my whole world, everything-”

“No!”

But he gripped her face to his, crushing his lips against hers, desperately loving her for the briefest moment, to last forever. And when he broke away, on a wail, he cupped his hand around Galiena’s cap of soft black curls, and kissed her forehead. “You will be free, my girl of Gaul.”

“Crixus, no!” Naevia sobbed and Galiena’s voice finally rang, protesting her father leaving her. _She fights. She knows that she is not nothing, that it is worth it to fight._

But he had swung down from the horse, backing away and already drawing his sword, pointing it towards his woman and then to the heavens, in honor. “It is just as Donar said, a glorious death for all gladiators.”

“You are a _father_ ,” Naevia cried. “You are _mine_.”

“Yes, I am,” Crixus smiled then, brilliantly beautiful in the early morning sunlight, and Naevia sucked in her breath. _My man is a god._ He looked down to Galiena once more and his face began to fall. “Naevia, you must fight for her. _Do not fade. Stay alive.”_

_Stay alive._

_You are my heartbeat now._

_They will not part us._

_You are my whole world._

_Be free._

_You are everything._

_Stay alive._

Galiena stirred in her arms, warm and so, so _alive_ and Naevia felt strength fill her, the strength to fight for her child. 

“Naevia!” He cried, and his voice grew desperate. “We promised her; safe, loved, _free. Go!_ ”

But Naevia waited one eternal second longer, taking in the sight of him, remembering every touch and kiss and all they had lost to reach this very moment. And all they had gained. “You are my heart, and you take it with you.” 

The very last words she spoke to him before she turned the horse and rode it into the forest. 

Just past the trees, she turned and looked behind her, to see that the pack had just came upon him. He was magnificent in battle, as he always had been. Naevia kicked the horse forward. She could not watch him fall.

*

Naevia followed Crixus’s plan- she hid in the woods for a day and night, too far away to see anything, but she could hear the sounds of battle, the thud and crash of swords and bodies. She bit her lip against crying out, and listened to the sound of her own breath, the horse’s breath, counted Galiena’s heartbeats. She fed her daughter- Galiena was already a warrior and knew when it was time to stop and when it was time to run. Her brave, free girl.

She did not sleep, did not dare that much, but did find food and water for herself. Galiena must stay alive, and she depended on her. There was no question. Naevia had always been able to stay alive, whatever else she lost.

When all was quiet, she decided she must move. She longed to go back, to find Crixus and burn his body, as a Gaul warrior should have been, but she did not dare. And she was too afraid of what she would find.

She set out, unsure of where she would go. Spartacus, she should try to find Spartacus, and Nasir. Naevia closed her eyes against the thought of her friend, her last _real_ friend. She knew she would be safe with Spartacus and Agron and even Saxa, but Nasir was the last. _Tonight, you can sleep...so few of us left._

Too few. And she could not yet sleep.

*

She only knew to head north, and to travel a long route. Not to be seen by any eyes, and heavens, Mother, Pietros, all who watched over them, to keep this horse, by nearly any cost. She found nuts and berries on the way - Saxa and Agron had taught her how to feed herself - and she was efficient enough with her knife to get meat on occasion. Small birds mainly, but it was enough.

She had been walking the horse for days, turning left and right and crooked ways to head north, when she led around a tree to come face to face with two Roman soldiers. One of them, the larger, took on a look that Naevia knew only too well.

No. No more men.

Her arms tightened around her baby, but Galiena did not cry out, the little warrior knowing when to use her voice.

“We have a bit of luck between us,” the larger said. Naevia could see that he still had blood on him, and she wondered how far she had gone from the fighting. He started for the horse, and Naevia drew back, tightening her hand on her knife.

But then the other one spoke up, “No.” He held out a hand to stop his companion. Naevia did not release the grip on her knife. The larger had not taken his eyes off her. He moved for her again, and the other stopped him. “No. What manner of man are you, that you attack a woman with suckling babe?”

Naevia allowed herself a small breath. No matter what, they would not take her daughter from her arms. “You can have the horse. Please, just allow myself and my child to pass.”

The one who had not moved toward her looked up at her. “Keep your horse. You might need it to bargain with men of less honor.”

“She is _nothing_!” The other cried out, looking back at her, hungry and angry, looking for anything that might soothe either urge.

“I am _not_ nothing!” Naevia cried, and the horse reared back.

The other man sighed, and she could see that he was tired, weary of war and fighting. “I have a wife and child of my own. My only wish is to return to them. Be on your way.”

Naevia paused, feeling it too easy. But neither could she stand there forever. With a deep breath, she pushed the horse forward, allowing one glance over her shoulder as she broke away. She saw the man in her distance, the Roman soldier who let her live. The Roman soldier who only longed to return to his family. 

But she spared no more will to live, for anyone other than Galiena.

*

It was weeks on the road, in the forests, when Naevia saw that which would not have announced itself to anyone else. Traps, designed by German hands, and meant for Romans. 

She had found them.

Carefully avoiding the snares and pits, Naevia picked her way around the traps and trees, following their trail. The more heavily guarded it became, she knew she was all the closer. Still, she tightened her hand on her knife, and as she always did when Naevia held her tighter, Galiena quieted down to only breathing.

She heard a twig snap behind her and she whirled, the horse so attuned to her every movement now. He was just as much a part of their guard at this point.

“Naevia?”

Nasir. At his voice, Naevia felt herself deflate, and then he was rushing forward, and she could see Agron for a second, but then she only saw the trees, as she fell from the saddle, Agron and Nasir catching her and Galiena before they could hit the ground.

*

They were taken back to Spartacus’s camp, which was prospering and lively, but Naevia heard it all as though from very far away, as Nasir carried her through. Agron had tried to take Galiena from her arms, but Naevia would not let her go. They were given furs to lie upon, water and food brought to them, and after she had rested for a while, Spartacus and Gannicus came to them. 

“You come alone?” Spartacus asked.

Naevia’s voice was very quiet, and she did not look at him. “I am all who is left.”

Days later, when Naevia had regained some of her strength, Spartacus showed her the extent of the fortune of the northern troops. They had a pit, swarming with Romans. Defeated soldiers. Spartacus raised his hands and announced his mercy. For the each of one hundred lives lost to Lucius Gellius Publicola at Mount Garganus, he would take one Roman. They had the honor of sacrifice _ad gladium_ in the name of Crixus, free man of Gaul, the Macedonian Donar, and all others who gave the gift of blood.

“Spartacus,” Nasir breathed, his eyes wide with horror. 

“No,” Naevia said, and Spartacus paused, before giving his command to begin.

“You object, Naevia?”

“Yes,” she answered and finally looked up. “I object to Nasir. Kill them all.”

*

Naevia stayed with Spartacus. She did not rejoin the battlefield, but stayed to tend the wounded, and ease the pain of the dying. She saw Lugo to ground, and Saxa. The German woman had watched her with Galiena, eyes soft for the first time that Naevia could remember seeing. “She lives,” she breathed before her light went out.

She went back to listening. She visited with Diona and Pietros in her dreams, and saw Oenomaus and Melitta, together and happy. And Crixus. Every night, Crixus, every day, his words in her ear. _We promised her. Stay alive._

The war was never-ending. Every day, Naevia closed the eyes of another who would never awaken, and still they came. _There can be none left to die,_ Naevia thought to herself, and still they came. Some even lived to drag up their sword once more, shuffling back to battle.

Galiena slept, strapped to her back through Naevia’s long days, and without her daughter, Naevia would not have been able to distinguish from one day to another. But Galiena was ever-changing, growing strong and beautiful and with the passing of time, Naevia found herself desperately missing Crixus.

_You left me._

_We promised her._

One day, as Naevia turned to tend to the next injured, she stood clutching her hand to her heart. The man had Pietros’s face, if aged and scarred. “Apologies,” Naevia said shakily, kneeling down closer to him, but as she did, the man’s eyes grew wide and he reached out.

“ _DESTA.”_

_Naevia._

She gasped and Galiena stirred against her back. The man had spoken her mother’s name, and she heard her voice, not in fear for once, but with a wild, fierce joy that Naevia could not place. And then she saw the burn on the man’s arm.

“You were once at the house of Batiatus.”

The man blinked. She could see her brother so clearly in his face, and her heartbeat quickened. “I was the champion. I was sold for my woman.” His voice was strangled and Naevia did not know if it was from battle or thinking of his lost love. “Please did you know of a woman named Desta? You...you have her look, it is as if I see her again...”

Naevia took a deep breath. “She was my mother.”

*

Loukianos was the man’s name, and he fell to his knees and wept when Naevia revealed the connection. He listened with quiet grief while she told him of his son’s fate and what happened to his woman, her mother. “I was sold for my master’s wicked jealousy, and she faced the same,” he had said and put his face in his hands and sobbed.

Loukianos had been sold to Sicilia, thinking he would die all too soon but he did well and his new master saw him promoted to Doctore.

He was never long from Naevia’s side, protecting her with an urgency she had never seen or felt before. And one day when she felt the familiar rumblings on the ground, this time knowing what it meant, Loukianos was by her immediately. “It is time,” was all he said, and Naevia felt the old familiar fear, clutching and choking her. She unhooked Galiena from her back and swung her around to hold her in her arms. They had heard for weeks that Romans were marching to Senerchia, and their troops were dwindling, running on less food, less supplies, less of everything. They survived on the will to live, and to die in freedom.

_Naevia. We promised her._

She would not. She stayed alive. She had always stayed alive, she would not see her daughter to ground. 

Loukianos took her by the arm, running behind her and hurrying her along. Galiena fussed in her arms - it was close to the time where she would need to eat, but Naevia jostled her as gently as she could. “Hush, little one, please do not cry out.” And her brave, free girl stopped immediately. She knew.

Spartacus did not hold anyone to any oath of battle. Freedom, and all that entailed, belonged to each their own. Still, Naevia could not help but look back as the final battle began, one last call to arms, one last time to tell Rome that they were not owned, they were people, and lived by their own path.

But for Naevia, there was no glorious death, no reunion with Crixus - there was Galiena, her free girl and staying alive.

*

Those who had scattered from the battle desperately sought each other in the weeks that followed, heard the terrible tales of six thousand crosses from Rome to Capua, but Loukianos pushed Naevia south, forcing her to eat, sleep and feed Galiena. They kept from roads, from any sign of soldiers, moving west if they heard noise from the east, and back the other way again. Naevia only saw one foot in front of the other, only saw life, for herself and her daughter, and as a selfish afterthought, for the father she had never known. She did not speak to her ghosts, and did not feel them with her as she had before. They were lost, at the end of the world, and there was nothing else.

One day, in the distance, Naevia woke to hear the sea, and she was a girl in Capua again, a little slave girl clutching Diona’s hand and sneaking smiles to Pietros on the ludus sand. “Where do we go?”

“I know of a port where we can buy passage to Sicilia,” Louikianos answered. “It is far enough for us, and I know the country. You will have a life there, we will...”

Naevia could not begin to express her gratitude for all that he had done for her and allowed herself to fall into his arms for the first time, while he held her, if a bit stiffly and ran his large, rough fingers over Galiena’s hair, thicker and curlier and growing out a bit now. She was becoming more of a little girl than a babe, and she would never know her father, just as Naevia had not. But there was this chance for them with Loukianos. 

“You would not make your own way?” She asked, breathing deep to stay her tears.

He shook his head. “For years, all I dreamed of was your mother. I did not know what Batiatus would do to her, the child she carried...children she carried. She led me back to you, I know it in my bones.” He was quiet for a moment. “Does she ever...speak to you?”

Naevia stilled. She had never known of anyone else who heard the voices as she did, no one who spoke of it anyway. He smiled then, taking her silence as affirmation. 

“Not until I was taken from her,” Loukianos said, and though he still smiled, it was more sadly. “I think it was her last gift to me.”

*

The ship that they set sail upon was outfitted with thieves, cutthroats, and Naevia could not quite be sure, but she thought she saw familiar faces, maybe others that they had fought alongside. Nobody asked any questions. It was safer that way. Even so, she kept close to Loukianos, and never took her eyes off her daughter.

They were brought into Sicilia at night, under the cover of darkness and away from Roman eyes, and Naevia did not breathe until Loukianos spirited them into the shadows. Sicilia was the loveliest place Naevia had ever seen, and thought of her father alone here for all of his life, trapped in this paradise. They watched Galiena take her first shaky steps and Naevia cried, thinking of Crixus and very quietly, she heard his words. _You are my heartbeat now._

*

Naevia could make things grow. Loukianos found a place for them to live, live freely, and she made things grow. Tomatoes and olives and figs near their house, and Loukianos caught fish in the sea, his spear as sure as it ever had been on the sands. Galiena learned to walk and then run, and then swim and sometimes disobeyed her mother, running to her grandfather for solidarity, and they both just marveled at the child’s ability to say _no_.

Four summers passed, and one day, Naevia could see two men walking on the path that led to their house, and she froze in fear, immediately listening for Galiena. But there was something familiar about both of them, and as they came into clearer focus, she could see the massive size of one, the long dark hair of the other, and the way the two men stayed so protectively close to one another. 

_Tonight, you can sleep._

She ran down the path, Galiena toddling after her, and Nasir’s eyes were as if he’d seen a ghost until she threw herself into his arms. Galiena stayed back, shy for once, as she had no recollection of anyone in her life other than her mother and grandfather. That night, as they feasted together, Agron told them of the last days of battle, and how Spartacus would not let him throw away the life he could have with Nasir for certain death. His eyes were haunted when he spoke the man’s name, and Naevia could hear Spartacus’s voice. _There is always a choice._ Agron had been the first to pick up sword and follow him into freedom, and she knew he would have followed him anywhere if it had not been for Nasir. 

They stayed. First just for a night, and then a few more, and then a half decade had passed. There was never any shortage of work that needed to be done, and Galiena made them all smile. One night, as Agron was finishing a story of the old forests in Germania, Galiena touched her fingers to his mark of the brotherhood, still deeply scarred after all these years, and across the room to her grandfather, who bore the same. “Will I have a mark when I am older? Or will mine be a colored picture, like Mother and Nasir?” 

“No, little flower, none shall ever mark your skin,” he said gently, exchanging a look with Naevia who listened quietly and pulled her daughter in close, kissing the top of her dark curls. Galiena was already starting to fall asleep when she heard his voice in her ear. _We promised her; safe, loved, free. You are my heartbeat._ And her head went din with the other voices, tender and loving.

_You live for all of us now._

“Yes,” Naevia said out loud. _And for me._


End file.
